Shadows of a Rose
by eternal rose 45
Summary: Ever since the Opera Populaire burned to the ground, nothing is the same. With a turn of events, Christine's life goes from bad to worse. Mix of the book and the 2004 movie. Fisrt fanfic R&R PLEASE!
1. The Graveyard

**Chapter One:**

This is my first fanfic. Please be kind, read and review.

"What have I done? What have I done?" She cried, running her small pale fingers over the top of the smooth coffin. Tears poured down her face onto the coffin lid, the pearl-like droplets shining in the cold sunlight.

Christine looked down and saw her reflection. Her shoulders were shaking and her eyes were red and swollen.

She had never meant to hurt anyone but had done worse- she had killed.

"My Angel!" she moaned and buried her swolen face in her hands sobbing uncontrollably for the life she ruined.

"…Christine…"

His last words were ringing in her ears… _"Christine, I love you."_...He loved her and she had run away with Raoul. –Yes, but I do love Raoul- she thought to herself.

"…Christine…"

She looked up. She hadn't seen anyone when she arrived minutes before.

"Yes…" her voice was shaky as were her hands, she tried to stand, but her legs felt like jelly.

"…Christine…"

She struggled to her feet, legs trembling she cried, "Show yourself!" She was beginning to get frightened.

She heard something stirring behind her. She whirled around to face grave markers and a whole lot of nothing. Why was someone tormenting her fragile soul?

"Sh…Show yourself! Whoever you are.."

But she wasn't finished before she heard her name again… "Christine!"

"Stop! Please!"

"Christine…"

She had to escape the moans that seemed to be engulfing her, surrounding her until she couldn't break free, couldn't breathe. She had to escape… but she couldn't

"Christine…Christine…Christine…"

She began to run her skirt and shawl flying behind her. Terror gripped her heart. What was happening to her?

"Christine…"

She ran in and between the tombstones until she could run no longer. The stays from her corset were sucking the air right out of her lungs.

"CHRISTINE! CHRISTINE! CHRISTINE!"

"Stop! Someone please help!' She screamed and sunk to her knees, quaking, her hands tightly pressed to her ears, but nothing she did seemed to block out the desperate moaning.

She felt something hard fall on her frail back. She screamed and shut her eyes tightly.

"Christine look out!" she heard someone scream her way.

She heard a crack and remembered opening her eyes to see a figure run towards her and then she was plunged into complete darkness.

After that, nothing…


	2. Where am I?

**Disclaimer- I do not own the Phantom of the Opera. All relations come from Mr. Gaton Leroux's novel. **

**Chapter 2:**

"Christine?"

"Hmm…" she mumbled in slight recognition and opened her eyes to find Raoul hovering above her, fear in his eyes.

The anxious look on his face startled her and she quickly sat up, but a sharp pain in her head made her retreat back to the pillow moaning.

"Thank the Lord you're alright!" he sighed sinking into a chair next to the bed, his head in his hands, "You gave us all quite a scare."

"All?" She was quite confused. What happened? Who, or what, pray tell, was that voice, and most importantly where was she?

She looked around. The surrounding walls were eggshell white and a small side table drawer had vases piled with roses, daisies and lilies…roses. That was the flower he would have give her, if he was still alive... .She felt a pang of guilt in her chest. The poor man…

"Yes, Madame Giry found you buried under a mounds of scaffolding at the graveyard a few days ago, you wouldn't wake up. We thought..."

He need not have said anymore. She looked down at her petite hands.

"You don't remember do you?"

She shook her head and looked down at her hands again, cut and bruised welled to thrice their size.

Raoul smiled kindly and pushed the hair out of her soft blue eyes.

"Excuse me sir," squeaked a stout nurse who waddled into the room. "The miss must rest, you may return later."

"Alright." he said and turned to Christine. "Goodbye, darling" he said and kissed her forehead lightly, not wanting to hurt her.

"Thank you sir." The nurse's voice seemed to go an octave higher when she realized she was speaking to the Vicomte.

"Goodbye, Raoul." Christine whispered looking after him.

After a few minutes, she was alone. She sighed as the nurse waddled in again.

"Excuse me miss. A friend of yours is here to see you. I told her you might be…" Christine cut her off abruptly.

"Oh, please let her in!"

She nodded and stumbled out of the room.

"Meg!" Christine smiled as her friend walked into the room. "How've you been?"

She hadn't seen Meg since the fiasco at the Opera Populaire a few weeks prior, she had changed. He face was thinner and she had dark circles under her eyes.

"Hello." She said, not sure of what to do.

Meg stared at her friend, troubled by her cuts and bruises on her face and hands (probably else ware too, she thought). Christine was like her sister and she didn't like to see her in pain. She shifted her jet-black hair from one shoulder to the other.

Christine sensed her tenseness and laughed. "I must look dreadful bythe way you're staring at me."

Meg couldn't help but laugh along with her

- I haven't laughed in ages. It feels great to do so. - Christine thought.

The two girls sat and talked for hours before the nurse made her not so grand reappearance and told Meg she needed to leave.

"Please thank your mother for me." Christine requested, remembering that she owed Madame Giry her life.

"Of course. See you soon Christine."

Meg walked to the door and waved goodbye before departing and leaving Christine to her torturing thoughts…


	3. Unexpected Surprises

**Disclaimer- I do not own the Phantom of the Opera. All relations come from Mr. Gaton Leroux's novel. **

**Chapter 3:**

He looked across the room. It was strewn with old melted candles and broken mirros. Torn books lay in dusty heaps on the floor.

There was a meek knock on the door, "Who is it?" he growled not wanting to see anyone or wanting anyone to see him.

"Daroga. Erik,we need to talk." Ushered a muffled voice from behind the intricate front door of the small rented flat.

The man slowly made his way over to the aperture and uncovered a small bronze key from a pouch in his pocket. Heheatedly jammed it into the keyhole and turned it. The door flew open to reveal The Persian. "Good morning Erik."

Erik stepped aside to let The Persian in, and caught a glimpse of the burned opera house. His home…! He slammed the door, never wanting to see it again.

"What do you want?"

"You know perfectly well, I came to give you the weeks news. May I sit down?" he asked

When there was no answer he sat down on the small uncomfortable settee anyway.

"Get on with it!" Erik's patience running thin. He began ringing his hands and digging his nails into the cushions.

"Erik," The Persian sighed, "I don't feel right lying to that poor girl."

"You promised that you'd stay out of my business once I let her go!" heboomed taking a step toward him, clenching his scaredfists.

The Persian lifted his hands in front of his face, emerald eyes willed with fright, "Oh, now don't do anything drastic!"

"Well," Erik said dropping his fists and slumping into a nearby chair, as to say 'I surrender' "the news?"

"The sweet girl went to_your _'funeral'!" Daroga said, a twinge of harshness in his voice that The Phantom brushed off. "Why I will never figure out after the way you treated her."

"I assume she's alright." He said blankly adjusting his mask which had gone a bit askew.

"Do you care?" said The Persian at ease a mocking grin on his ebony face.

"I could care less if she was alright, but in all due respect Iassumed you'd tell me!" His fists clenched then flexed in fury.

"She was buried under scaffolding and sent to the hospital." Daroga's voice filled woth worry.

The Phantom's head snapped up quickly then he let it fall limply on his chest. Daroga was right, why should he care? She was no longer his.

The Persian droned on about the week's news without The Phantom takingheed of any of it.

-Christine, she'll never be mine... she was never mine. – His mind raced, pain overwhelming him. –Oh, why did Daroga have to bring her up? The pain... the pain is why I threatened him to lie to Christine and tell her I was dead. I can't face her, not with _HIM_ anyway! I bet she didn't care that I 'died'! -

- I wish Daroga wouldn't _insist_ on coming every week! If he thinks I've forgotten my emotional outbreak two weeks ago, he's very much mistaken. I remember telling him I was going to die. HA! The pain was unbearable then. I wish I had died. With every fiber of my being I wish I had died! –

He heard a woman laugh outside the flat. Christine alwaysstrolledby without knowing he was there. The he remembered the Vicomte.

- I should've killed him when I had the chance. That…"

"Erik!" The Persian exclaimed snapping his thumb and index finger together in front of Erik's murderous face, bringing him back to reality.

"What?" was the moody response.

"Have you heard a word I've said?" The Persian retorted, his face scrunched in frustration.

There was no answer.

"If you don't want to listen, I'll leave you to your sulking."

Erik lifted up his masked face. The Persian looked into his gold eyes to see sheer resentment.

Without another word, The Persian got up and walked out of the small flat leaving The Phantom to finger the over-stuffed armchair he was sitting in.


	4. The Phantom of the Opera

Thank you so much! I really appreciate the reviews!

**Disclaimer- I do not own the Phantom of the Opera. All relations come from Mr. Gaton Leroux's novel. **

**Chapter 4:**

Christine sat in the uncomfortable hospital bed, staring out the window that was misted with rain. Her curly blonde hair tumbling down her soft-featured face, getting into her eyes.

Raoul had visited her earlier and told her she was to be released in a few days, after they made sure her wounds were fully healed and the swelling in her hands were completely down.

She sighed. She was lonely. Raoul was the only one who visited her (since Meg had to go out of town) and he was a busy man and she didn't hold it against him. She sighed again and looked harder out the small window.

He had also visited her to ask for her hand... again.

-I can't marry him now, everything...everything is so fresh in my mind. It's too much to carry right now, and to add a wedding!

- I feel like dirt, it's been the fourth time since we ran away, I do love Raoul! I do! –

She thought back to the day they ran away together…

_"Christine, my dear, will you?' he pulled her close to him._

_"Oh, Raoul, I love you, but please give me time. Everything is happening so fast." _

She pulled herself from her reverie. She remembered how his face filled with hurt and his eyes redirected everywhere from her face.

She looked down at her hands, cut and pale, and folded them.

She then lifted her head to gaze around the small, empty room. The flowers were gone, and the room was empty save for a few pieces of furniture. The silence in which she could review her life in was like a living hell.

The sound of the consistent pangs of rain on the window began to make her drowsy. Her eyelids became as heavy as lead and her head nodded on her chest.

"Christine Daae please." She heard a familliar voice that she hadn't heard in weeks.

Her head shot up, eyes wide,all drowsiness forgotten.

-I know that voice! Wait, he...he passed on!-

"This way follow me sir." The stout nurse squeeked. The squeeking was beginning to get to her.

-I MUST be going crazy! -

The footsteps grew louder and louder

-What do I do? - Her eyes widening in unexplainable fear…

Too late… he was fast approaching.

She yanked the covers to her chin, let her right arm hang over the side of the bed and close her eyes just as he reached the door.

"Christine." He whispered, his voice held that of disbelief.

She didn't answer. –Don't mess this up Christine! Just keep pretending to sleep! – She thought to herself.

"Christine." He sighed again as if making sure she was really there.

He brought back to hood of his cloak that covered his face in shadow. She opened her eyes every-so-slightly to see his white porcelain mask perfectly in place, but quickly shut them again as he sat in the chair by the bed and stared at her arms and face. His magnificent gold eyes filled with pain at the sight of her.

**-Why have I come? She's probably already married to the Vicomte. –** his dreadful mind hissed in mockery

He tried to look for a ring, but her left hand was engulfed in the sea of sheets.

He lifted his hands to his head. He wanted to pull out his hair, he wanted to scream, he wanted to die…

He reached out and gently touched her hair. He remembered its feel; its texture and tears sprang up in his eyes.

"Christine, I…" he paused, choking on salty tears that beganfalling down his cheaks"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He whispered.

"I never meant to frighten you. Christine, I...I love you. I tried...I tried so hard to get you toreturn my love,but the Vicomte stole you from me." His voice slowly began to crack.

"You've always had someone who loved you, and that's all I wanted." he moaned. "My mother, she didn't love me. She's the one who gave me my first mask, a piece of itchy fabric that tore into my flesh, ripped me apart. She'd always cast me aside. My poor unhappy mother. She never let me kiss her, and when you had I... I thought, no felt that for once someone might actually care about this monster."

Christine's eyes began to burn from trying to force her tears back through her closed eyelids.

He reached out and took her right hand in his, bringing it to his lips.The leather of his black gloves tickling her palm. She twitched. He stroked her hand gently and tears began to chase each other down his cheeks.

"I though I could make you love me, my dear, but I was wrong, you're an independent woman and I was wrong of me to persuade you.

"I know your asleep, my love, and it's better this way. I don't want tofrightenyou any more than I already have." He stroked the soft flesh that was her hand.

"Christine, my dear, Christine." He moaned and began to sob.

- You poor man! No one deserves to be treated that way! –

She wanted to comfort him, to take him in her arms and tell him everything was all right, but it wasn't. Nothing, for him, would be all right again.

She could no longer hold in her tears. She turned on her side so her back was facing him.

Hurt exploded inside his shattered chest.

That's what she'd always done, hadn't she? She's always turned her back to him and blocked him out of her life, refused to let him in.

He stood up and reached into the breast pocket of his coat. He pulled out a rose with a black satin ribbon tied to the stem. The deepness of the red looked odd against the all black outfit The Phantom wore. He gently placed it on the side table before having second thoughts and shoving it back in the pocket.

He bent down and kissed her lightly on the forehead before walking quietly to the door so as to notwakeher.He turned around and stared at his love.

"Goodbye Christine, goodbye forever."

With that, he walked from the room and promised himself he'd never see her again, ever.

Once he was out of earshot, she got up out of bed, tears streaming down her face, and staggered to the window and watchedhis carriage roll lazily into the heavy rain.


	5. Memories

Hey everyone! I hope you all like it!

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera _and Mr. Lloyd Webber (I used snippets of his lyrics)

**Authors note: **Sorry this Ch is short. Ch 5-7 are kind of connecters but I hope you still enjoy them! PLEASE R&R!

**Chapter 5**

"Thank you," Christine said shaking hands with the nurse who had tended to her over the last week or so.

"Oh, really miss, 'tis no problem." The stout creature smiled at the bright, virtuous woman standing in front of her. "Monsieur le Vicomte, you do have a wonderful woman."

Raoul was standing beside Christine, beaming,his left arm around her waist. He smiled, "I sure do."

Christine was still weak from her incident and let her head fall on his sturdy shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck to kepp from falling.

"Remember to rest, miss." the nurse reminded her for the umpteenth time.

"I will, thank you."

"I promise to watch after her for the next few days." Raoul jestes smiling down at her and laid a kiss in her hair. "It's time to go, darling."

She nodded slowly and they began walking to the exit. Half way to the exit, her kneesgave way asRaoul swept her up in his arms and steadied himself. She placed her arms gingerly on his shoulders as he began to walk on.

Her mind began to race. –My poor Angel! Why is everyone so cruel to him?"-

"Christine?" Raoul was staring at her now. They were sitting on the red velvet cushions inside of the intricate carriage.

"I'm sorry, what was that again?" She felt atrocious for asking him to repeat but she rarely listened to anyone any longer.

"I asked if you wanted to go for dinner or go home?" he said lovingly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but would you mind taking me home? I'm tired and would like to rest." Christine said her eye lips drooping

"Of course, darling. You need not ask, never." He smiled, caressing her long blonde curls.

There was an immensely long silence in which Christine's mind gave way to her past…

"_No more talk of darkness, forget these wide eyed fears..."_ The voice sounded so near, yet so distant at the same time, but her mind progressed…

She was pulled through a trap door, frightened beyond her wits. He dragged her, down, down into the darkness where his lair lay hidden beyond a lake. He spat hateful words…and she spat them back. How could she? That was so cruel… But before she could stop to process, she was whirled into another thought.

Raoul was rowing the small boat back to safety and he embraced her, singing sweet nothings in her ear…

"Christine." Raoul asked tentatively. She looked up into his eyes, her eyes held an expression he had never seen before. "Christine, darling, are you feeling well? You haven't seemed with us in the past day or so. Is something troubling you?"

-Of course something is troubling me! _He's_ haunting my mind! If I tell you, you'd surly kill him! – She thought

She gave him an attempted smile, "No, nothing."

The carriage came to an abrupt halt.

"Alright," he smiled broadly, " Hold on, let me get out first."

He jumped out of the carriage, and then lifted her out gently, being careful not to rouse her up at all. He slowly advanced toward the front door and took out the key.

After he'd gotten her all settled in bed, he kissed her goodbye. As he walked out of the small home he'd paid for Christine to live in, he looked back, longing in his eyes, wishing he could be back safely inside with her.


	6. The Whitewashed House

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera._

**Chapter 6**

3 weeks had passed since the scaffolding accident and Christine was restored back to health, well, almost.

It was a brisk morning. Coldness ran down her spine as the golden sun painted the sky orange and reds, crept behind the grey clouds.

She had to quicken her pace to keep up with Raoul. She thread her arm through the crook his made. "Please, Raoul, please slow down." She panted, her corset stays tugging.

He soon realized how fast he was walking and slowed his pace. "So sorry, love."

They walked together for a few blocks; Raoul's select servants trailed a few steps behind. Raoul was very high on the charts, if you catch my drift.

Christine was swept up in one of her frequent reveries. She could no longer block them out, no longer wanted them out... She heard a distant voice, but paid it no mind, for she was to absorbed in her torn memories.

She felt a tender nudge in her side and was pulled back to the street. Raoul was staring at her, a question clearly asked.

-Not again! I always pick the worst times to drift off! Every time he says something! –

He playfully nudged her again and bent so him mouth was only inches from her ear, "Do you want me to get rid of them?" He asked jerking his head back slightly toward the lagging servants. He smiled, and she couldn't refuse.

"Hold on a second." He stepped away to gather the servants.

As Christine stood alone, she had the feeling that she was being watched. She looked around her. Across the street she saw the remains of the famous Opera Populaire. She adverted her eyes, the sight of it made her stomach tie in knots and her eyes sting. She looked at the whitewashed houses, so close to her; she could see every detail of them. Her eyes traveled back and forth between the houses until she came across one. She curtains were swaying back and forth… someone WAS watching her. Fear gripped her body and she nearly fell over.

"Raoul! Raoul!" She cried, all color drained from her face.

He ran back to her. "What is it, dear? What's wrong?"

She threw herself in his arms. "I think were being watched." She whispered urgently into his ear.

He stared at her for a moment, then threw his head back and roared in laughyer, shaking down to his feet.

"What's so funny?" She stepped away from him; a pang of annoyance went off in her body. She crossed her arms.

He finished his laugh and said, "We're not being watched. Where ever did you get that idea?"

Christine pointed out the whitewashed house's window…nothing there.

Raoul walked over to the tiny flat and knocked on the siding. No one came out to tell him to stop. "See Christine, nothing. No one is home." But at that very moment the window swung open and smacked Raoul upside his head. He rubbed it gingerly and began to burst into another laughing fit.

"The curtains were moving before, I saw it!" Christine pleaded, desperate for him to belive her.

His laugher attracted many stares. "Come Christine, lets go to lunch now."


	7. The Ring

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera._

Thank you so much **Lady Elanya** and **Phantom-Phan-4-Eternity** for reviewing!

**Chapter 7**

They strode happily into the dimly lit restaurant. The smell of roses flooded the air around them. Christine was so close to drifting off, but soon felt a hand under her elbow and was lead away to a table, secluded from the rest.

Raoul pulled the chair out for her and took it thankfully, for her petite feet ached with a heavy soreness from walking all morning.

She pulled the menu toward her and opened it. She had to squint to see the tiny print.

-Arrostire I'Anitra

-Pollo

-Maiale

-Insalata

There were many more dishes, but because of all her straining, her tender eyes stung with no sign of near relief.

She looked up from the nearly unreadable menu to see Raoul staring at her. She was taken aback.

"What?" she asked smiling. "Do I have something on my face?" Her hand flew to her face to check for blemishes.

"No," he laughed, "No, dear." He reached across the table and gently took a delicate hand that was poised over her napkin. "You're perfect."

She blushed, "Now, Raoul, don't you know how to make a girls face grow hot. Don't tell lies, I know I'm not the most beautiful girl." She laughed, nervously.

"Don't say such things, Christine!" The stern look on his face said it all. "Your gorgeous and don't think of yourself any other way."

"Oh, please!" With that she waved off the comment with the back of her hand and bean toying with the crimson napkin in her lap.

At that moment, a waiter brought over a bottle of beige champagne.

"Thank you, monsieur." She said softly, smiling upward.

He nodded and walked away silently.

"Christine," Raoul said, this time taking her hands in his and kneeling in front of her.

She looked at him, she looked at him for a long time and for a second she had to grip the table, her knuckles white as she saw for a moment the percing gold eyes of a man she once knew where Raoul's light green-almost a powdery blue eyes should be. A moment later the color was gone.

He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small velvet box. "Christine, will you marry me?"

She stared at the ring mouth a gape. The shine of the diamonds shone in her eyes adding to her beauty. When she finally spoke, it was with great difficulty. "The, the ring!" Raoul laughed, "Oh, Raoul, its eccentric!"

"Well?" he asked anxiously, squeezing her petite hand in his.

She smiled and as he stood, entwining her fingers together at the back of his neck and kissed him. "Yes!"

He slipped the diamond ring on her left ring finger and kissed her again.

"You've outdone yourself." She whispered admiring the ring and realizing she would no longer be Mademoiselle Christine Daae, but Madame Raoul de Chagny, the vicomtess.

"Nothing is to good for you mon ange." he whispered, breakingopen the bottle of champagne and pouring two glasses.

"To us?" The Vicomte asked, lifting his glass, happiness bubbling and swirling his insides.

"To us." The frail 16 year old repeated, beaming.

They both took a sip from the tangy, russet colored liquid, but all the while Christine has the familliar sense that she was being watched which loomed over her head the rest of the night.

**Okay, I KNOW its not the best chapter, but im just trying to get a little happiness in here because... oops! im not supposed to telt you. :) We'll I can tell you all that there will be suprising entrances to be prepaired :) HOPE YOU LIKE IT!**


	8. No Hope For A Tomorrow

**PhantomLover2005-** Yea, something bad is happening, but you'll have to read :)

**Lady Elanya- **Thanks!

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera._

**Chapter 8**

He screamed. He screamed as loud as he could, anger and hurt rising way above the normal level of emotion one should endure.

The already rage-stricken house was being torn up all over again. He pulled the remaining books off the bookshelf and did as he please with them.

"That fop!" he boomed, "That fashion plate!" he waved his hand imitating the Vicomte.

"Whoa!" The Persian ducked, just narrowly missing a book that tore across the room, nearly taking off his ear in the process. "Whoa, Erik are you sure?"

"How can I not be sure!" he erupted turning toward The Persian rage danced wildly in his gold eyes. "I was there! I was in the resturaunt when he proposed! I couldn't resist seeing what they were up to, especially since he rapped that oversized hand of his on my home!"

"Erik, please sit…"Darogan tried soothe his friend to no avail.

"Don't you DARE tell me what to do!" he shoved a chair over to make his point. His eyes turning bright red in fury.

"Listen to me! Sit down and you…"He pause. He'd what?

As if Erik heard his thoughts, he boomed, "Kill myself! Sure, why not, I've nothing left to live for!" He broke down into deep sobs.

"How could she do this to me?" Tears poured wildly down his disfigured face. "How could she after all I've done for her?"

"He makes her happy."

"I never wanted her to be anything but happy, but…" The Phantom stopped, he would sound so incredibly concieted.

"But, just not with him, right?" The Persian said, his emerald eyes held pity for the creature hunched on the floor, weeping.

The Phantom nodded he was sobbing too hard to speak.

"I love her." He said after a while, wringing his black-gloved hands together.

"Does she know?" The Persian asked, unsure of what to do. He'd seen Erik break down before, but this was worse. Much worse.

"I don't know!"The Phantomwhimpered, entering a reverie."I went to visit her at the hospital and told her, but she was sleeping. Oh, how pretty she looks when she's asleep."

"You WHAT?" Daroga's eyes were wide in disbelief.

"I had to make sure she was alright. I couldn't forgive myself if something happened to her on my accord." He kept his head down, staring at a line from a torn page he was holding.

_"All is fair in love and war."_

"But you blew your cover and made me lie all for nothing!" The Persian felt ghastly for lying to Christine about Erik's 'death' and he had a heavy conscience ever since. Lying to her just for Erik to disregard the whole thing was to much for him to handle.

"I don't care! She wont remember anyhow!" He hissed, crumpling the torn page.

The Phantom looked longingly toward his dresser where there sat the plain gold ring. He'd given her that ring and told her to wear it always so he knew that she'd come back.

He walked over to it and picked it up. It was cool in his warm flesh and he squeezed it as hard as possible. A fresh batch of tears fell from his eyes.

"I must go. I'll be back later and we'll discuss this."

"There's nothing to discuss." The Phantom said blankly. "Just go! I want to be alone!"

The Persian said nothing, but walked out the door leaving Erik to his memories and no hope for a tomorrow.

The hurt and deception overwhelmed him.

-I thought I was done with her. – He thought

He looked around the flat desperately looking for something to ease his never-ending pain.

"At last!"

He found a dagger hidden deep within the confines of the drawer he was rummaging desperatelyin.

He ran his fingers over the cold metal of the blade. The chill of it running down his spine. He gripped the blade in his right hand squeezing it in his clenched hand. He held the blade there for a long while. As he opened his hand he saw the deep cuts within his palm and fingers. They began to bleed slowly at first, then a little faster. He quickly took out his handkerchief and pressed it to his wounds.

The Funny thing was that the wounds didn't hurt at all. The only pain he could feel was in his heart as it was being torn to shreds.

Oh, how desperately he wanted to ease the pain in his heart. He poised the dagger over his heart thinking deeply if he should plunge it into his chest and be done with himself once and for all.

He suddenly became incredibly angry as he stared at the shiny dagger in his hands. Hands, which have done so much wrong. With all his strength threw the dagger across the room where it wedged itself deeply into the wall were it will never again be of any use to him whatsoever.

_"YOU'LL ALL BE SORRY ONE DAY! TRUST ME ON THIS ONE! IT'S WAR!"_ He shook with wrath, fists in the air.

And with that he fell to his knees and broke into sobs, the ring on the pinky of his left hand and the handkerchief still pressed to the bleeding wounds.

--------------------------------------------

Alright, so all the badness is beginning. Sorry I cant say more cause it'll give away the story:)


	9. Warnings

**Brittany Malfoy**- Thanks! 

**Lady Elanya- **I feel bad for the Phantom too, but surprises surprises. :)

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera._

**Chapter 9 **

Christine was out gallivanting, shopping bag in hand she walked on. The heavy bag pulled her arm, struggling to keep her composure she tripped on a pebble.

"Who knew a new dress could be so heavy." She giggled to herself.

She'd felt very giddy ever since Raoul proposed to her, but there was a gap in her heart that he couldn't fill. She pushed the though away.

-He will fill it, he will. – She kept repeating this over and over, but deep in her mind wedged between memories, she doubted her own words.

"Miss." She heard a voice whisper nearby.

"Hello? Who's there?" She set the bag down gently on the sidewalk.

"Miss." Said the voice, the voice that, Christine thought, belonged to a young woman like herself.

"Me? Are you looking for me?"

"Yes." Said the voice again, but this time a young woman emerged from the shadows that were on her right.

Christine jumped backwards a bit, taking in the young woman's features. She had large brown; almost black eyes that bore into Christine's own blue ones. Her long jet-black hair billowed around her shoulders. The sun had permanently browned her skin, and she wore green garments around her body, nothing like Christine's attire, which consisted of a delicate powder blue dress with intricate embroidery around the neckline, sleeves, and hem and a pretty blue bonnet to match the dress.

"What is it you want from me?" Christine asked reaching for her change purse.

Come with me." Stated the girl blankly. As Christine took another look at the woman, she saw that she was at least two years older than she, for Christine was only 16.

"What's your name? Who are you?"

"My name, my name is unimportant." With thatthe girl sprinted off into the darkness.

"Wait!" she yelled after the girl. Oddly enough she trusted this gypsy even though she had bad experiences with them in previous years.

Christine began to run, forgetting the bag still sitting on the sidewalk. She heard the echo of her feet hitting the ground and her uneven breath, nothing more, nothing less.

"Hello?" she yelled into the darkness, which seemed to welcome her like and old friend.

"Try to keep up!" she heard the voice on her far left.

"Please wait," Christine panted, running faster to keep up, the stays of her corset pulling at the air in her lungs.

Just as fast as Christine had entered the darkness, she found herself out of it, staring at a gypsy camp.

As Christine looked around, she felt out of place, her pale skin seemed to clash with the browned skin of the people around her.

She looked to her side where the girl stood, "Why am I here?" She said anxiously, her fear rising.

"Come, follow me." She repeated and disappeared into one of the nearby caravans.

Christine followed nervously. The caravan was dressed in bright ,vibrant colors. Reds, oranges, and violets decked the walls and ceiling.

"Sit." The girl gestured toward a seat in front of a crystal ball.

Christine sat, saying nothing afraid of what the crystal ball might say.

"Death is in your future." Said the young woman blankly.

"What!" Christine nearly fell out of the chair she was sitting in.

"Death," the woman had her eyes closed running her thin fingers running over the surface of the smooth crystal ball.

Christine sat in silence, not believing what she was hearing.

"You must beware."

That was all Christine could take. She jumped up out of the chair and ran.

"Wait!" the woman screamed after her, but it was too late.

Christine ran as fast as she could, tears running down her cheeks. She couldn't believe what she just heard; she wasn't going to believe it!

She ran back into the darkness, she couldn't see anything. The trees above her had formed a blanket covering the sun out of sight. It was pitch black and Christine was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. She had to find her was out! She scrambled around hands outstretched in front of her feeling for anything that might lead her out.

"AH!" She screamed as her foot wedged itself into a root of a nearby tree. She knelt down and pulled her foot out with mush force. She was plunged backwards and she quickly got on all fours and felt of something, anything.

Her hand swiped across something smooth. She brought her and back to the smooth object. A shoe! She quickly jumped to her feet as she put out her shaky hand and felt a shoulder. A hand flew out and gripped her wrist tightly. Terror squeezed her insides and her eyes widened as she let out a blood-curdling scream…


	10. Do You Trust Me?

**Isilee- **Aww thank you!

**Lady Elanya-** You'll just have to read :)

Thanks so much for reviewing!

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _Lyrics come from Mr. Andrew Lloyd Webber.

**Chapter 10**

She let out a blood-curdling scream… The hand that was clamped around her wrist was undoubtedly one of a male. The grip tightened and it felt as if her wrist was about to snap in half. She screamed again and her wrist was released, but in seconds it was smacked against her lips.

"Hush!" the man's voice said in an urgent whisper. "Do you want me to get you out of here?"

She nodded her head violently. She was frightened of the woods and would forever be from that moment on. Who was this man and why was he so willing to help her? Why was his hand over her mouth?

She opened her mouth behind his hand to say something, but without warning he pulled her close to him.

"Cover your head." He said as he reached into one of his pockets and drew out a tiny pistol.

She gasped, his hand still covering her mouth. –He's going to kill me! – Her mind screamed and she struggled to break free of his restraining arms.

"Stop!" he exclaimed sternly as he turned the turned the pistol upwards and pulled the trigger. The bullet fell a few feet away from Christine and she stared blankly into the darkness, ceasing her struggle.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I want to help you, trust me."

_"Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation."_

She quickly shook the thought. This wasn't HIM, he said he wouldn't come back.

She couldn't believe what she was hearing; this man had just shot a pistol into the air claiming he wanted to help her. As if he was reading her thoughts he placed the pistol in her hands, "Here, take this and if you think I'm untrustworthy, you have a weapon."

She stared down at the pistol in her hands and it was at that moment she realized he'd taken his hand off her mouth.

"Does this mean you trust me?"

Christine stood in silence. His voice, she knew that voice from somewhere. Oddly, she trusted the man, she trusted the man more than anything at that moment, she trusted the way he held her…

"I trust you." She whispered weakly.

"Ah, good. That's a start, now do as I say and everything will go a lot quicker. Become limp."

"What?" she said a bit to loudly, her voice slicing through the thick darkness.

"Go limp, I'll catch you."

She did as the man said and she went automatically limp. He caught her in his arms and threw her over a broad shoulder. She was startled at the sudden movement. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Play along, stay limp."

He began to walk and the continuous bobbing was a source of aggravating discomfort to Christine whose stomach was pressed painfully against his shoulder.

"Monsieur, how much longer must I stay like this, for it's painfully uncomfortable?"

"Only a little longer…" he cut himself off.

They were back at the gypsy campsite. Christine turned her head upward to see who the mysterious man was, but a black hood was pulled neatly over the back of his head. She sighed; -I'll have to thank this gentleman, I surely would've been lost in there forever. -

She heard nearby footsteps and became limp again at once.

"Who is THAT?"

"So sorry," the man who was carrying her said, "I was having a duel back in the woods, the lady saw us both and fainted, poor dear."

"What are you going to do with her?"

"I don't know, probably leave her on the streets." He let out a laugh.

Christine stiffened and the man pinched her leg as if to say _stay limp_. She was always good at keeping orders so she did as she was instructed.

"Be on your way." The rough voice said and the man began his long strides again.

"Put me down." Christine said angrily once she knew they far away from the campsite.

"I'm sorry for the comment before." The man said sincerely.

Christine sighed again. What was to become of this? What if Raoul saw her? She had no time to think long about it, for in a moment she were out of the darkness, on the streets of Paris.

"I live…" Christine started

"I know where you live." The response wasn't angry or evil, it was…saddened

And then it clicked. I hit her smack in the face. It was him, it _was_ him! Oh God! He was taking her back with him! But as she opened her eyes, she saw that he was actually bringing her back to Raoul's home. What was this? This wasn't the Angel she knew, or was it? Everything she ever knew fell away, and fast. Why was he so quick to give her back to Raoul?

They arrived on the doorstep of the mansion and she slid her to her feet. He pulled down his hood and stared at her,his gold eyesbearing into her own pale blue ones. He reached out and touched her hair, and that was it, no 'I love you', no 'Christine, come back with me', only the deepest sadness she'd ever seen.

Her heart beat faster and faster, -This wasn't like him,- She was utterly scared ever though he looked harmless, he was far from it. She gathered her skirts and ran pell-mell up the stone steps leading to the front door, her golden locks flying behind her. She knocked wildly on the door.

"Christine?" Raoul answered the door only to see Christine's terror-stricken face behind it. "Christine, what's wrong?" he was utterly worried now, he hadn't seen her like this since…

Before he knew it she threw herself into his arms, trembling slightly. She turned her head to see if he was still there…but he was nowhere in sight.


	11. Lies

**Lady Elanya, Twinkle, and isilee thank you sooooo much for your reviews!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera._

**Chapter 11**

He sat on the welcoming, overstuffed couch. It was taking him some time to actually register what was being said to him.

"Raoul, say something." Christine pleaded, regretting saying anything of which she had confessed.

His pale green eyes darted from the delicate hands that were placed gently in his, to the face that pleaded for any notion that he had heard her, to the large window and back to Christine again.

"Please."

"How could you have lied to me?" Anger replaced shock. "All those times I've asked you if you were okay, you were think about _him_ weren't you. It was all lies wasn't it?"

"No! Not _all_ of the time." She exclaimed even though, she knew that what he said was perfectly, utterly, and completely true.

"Don't you _DARE_ lie to me again!"

She blushed slightly and looked down to hide her guilty face.

"How reassuring." He said bitterly. He hated loosing her like this, for she'd surely run back to 'Her Angel'.

"Raoul! Raoul, listen to me! I knew you'd be angry and I didn't want to upset you."

He stood up angrily and dropped her hands. He walked briskly to the large bay window that overlooked the Eiffel Tower and sighed. "Christine, you don't know what its like to feel like you have to fight for your betrotheds affection." He turned to face her, "Do you love me, Christine, honestly?"

"Of course I do!" She nearly yelled alarmed, jumped up and ran over to him. "Why would you even say such a thing?"

"You've been so distracted lately. We haven't even set a date for the wedding yet, and…"

"Hush." She cooed and placed herself in his arms gently, taking in his smell. "You know I love you, now don't be foolish."

He smiled embracing her tighter. He loved her more than he knew. "From now one, you have my bodyguard. He shall stay with you at all times, and please don't give him a hard time, Mon ange." He joked. It was wonderful to hear the playfulness in his voice.

"You need not do that, dear."

"No! No excuses, you will have a bodyguard and that's final!" He looked down and saw the fear in her eyes. Was she afraid he would hurt her? How could that be? "Christine, dear, I'm only doing what's best for us."

She stared into his pale, sea foam-green eyes. She knew where he was coming from. He didn't want to loose her, and she didn't want to loose him. If she were in his shoes she'd do the same.

He broke away from the embrace and walked toward the door where he pulled off his coat and hat from the long wooden coat rack standing near a tall gas lamp.

"Where are you going?" Christine asked nervously, she didn't want him to do anything drastic.

"I'm going for a walk to clear my head." He gave her a small smile.

Christine nodded just as Manuel, Raoul's muscular bodyguard, rushed forward to assume his position. Raoul thrust his arm out and blocked Manuel's only exit to the lush front yard.

"No, stay with Christine." He said firmly smacking his hat on his head.

"But, but Monsieur le Vecomte!" Manuel exclaimed. It was his job and his job alone to keep the Vicomte safe no matter what happened.

"No excuses. Besides," he sighed, "I'd like to be alone."

"I love you Raoul." Christine smiled genuinely, illuminating her face.

"I love you too, watch out for him." He said and walked out the large, intricate front door out onto the streets of Paris.

Christine took a pillow that was resting neatly next to her, buried her face in it, and sobbed.

-------------------

He walked slowly along all the corner and side streets picking up small pebbles as he went.

-How could she have lied to me? Why wouldn't she tell me? I could've helped her, I could've protected her!- He slammed a small pebble on the street. It bounced off and landed into a nearby water fountain, spraying small shimmering droplets of water into the air.

-She knows I love her! She knows I would've helped her! –

All his pumped-up anger released as her threw all the pebbles at once. One hit a carriage, another a house, another a horse, and so on.

He felt like screaming. He loved Christine too much to give her up. He reached a main road and he decided… he was going to find The Phantom. He was going to find him and he was going to teach him a lesson. One he surely would never have to teach again.

He thought about the night when they narrowly escaped from within his grasps alive. The thought caused him to shudder as he recalled the Punjab wrapped around his neck…

All at once, he felt a searing pain in his abdomen. His knees buckled, he couldn't breathe. His desperate attempts for air failed him deeply and he fell on his back panting out of control…


	12. Unwanted News

**Twinkle22- **Raoul is a very emotional person haha. I hope you like the story so far.

**Isilee-** I will personally take it up with The Phantom LOL.

**Lady Elanya- **Your right he would have hurt Raoul…and bad. I'm glad you like my story.

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera._

**Chapter 12**

Christine got up from the sofa, her eyes red, after a long cry and whipped her eyes on one of Raoul's handkerchiefs that was resting pleasantly on the delicately detailed bureau.

She hadn't told Raoul about the gypsy. If he was unnerved over The Phantom, think of what he would have done!

She sighed and walked into the kitchen to put on a cup of tea. She yearned for company, for she had no visitors save for the job applicants Raoul received every once and a while.

There was a hard knock on the door and she ran to get it. Who could it be? She checked the side window to make sure it wasn't _him_ before opening the door.

As she pulled open the heavy door, she smiled brightly at two gendarmes standing before her. One, as she observed, had curly red hair, and the other lanky blonde hair. She assumed they were brothers, for they looked strikingly alike save for the hair color.

"Hello." Christine said, oblivious to why they were standingin the doorway.

"Hello, mademoiselle, is this the de Chagny residence?" the redheaded officer asked as he took in the large room before him.

"Yes. Oh, how rude I am, do come in, you two must be freezing. It's frigid out there."

"Thank you."

They stepped inside thankful for the warmth forthey had been standing outside in the bone chilling all day.

"I was just about to make tea, would you like some?" She asked brightly.

"No mademoiselle, that won't be necessary." The blonde said, his deep baritone voice echoed through the house, "We've come for a very important reason."

As if she hadn't heard the man, she walked into the kitchen and put on a pot of tea. "I insist you sit and warm up." Came her cheery voice

"Pretty thing isn't she?" The blonde whispered to his brother, "Too bad _we_ have to tell her."

The redhead nodded and cleared his throat, "Excuse me, but are you Miss Christine Daae?"

"Yes, that's Me." Her voice rang through to the living room where the two officers stood uncomfortably, dreading what had to be said next.

"Are you in anyway connected to Monsieur le Vicomte."

"He's my fiancée." The dreaminess in her voice evident and she sighed. –My dear, Raoul.- the thought.

"Miss we've some bad news."

There was silence…

The gendarmes exchanged gave, wary looks and the blonde gulped, "Monsieur le Vicomte has...he has been shot."…


	13. Within The Wind

**Thank you sooooooooooo much Lady Elanya, Twinkle, Angel of Music, and Andama for reviewing!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera._

**Chapter 13**

There was the sound of expensive china being smashed to the floor and the rustle of anxious skirts. She was back into the living room eyes wide with terror.

"What?" her voice trembled.

"The Vicomte de Chagny has been shot." The gendarme said forlornly

"Is this some sort of jest?" Hot tears spilled over her eyelids, "Because it's not at all amusing."

"I'm sorry Madame, this is no joke."

She inhaled a sharp breath and nearly collapsed as the blonde officer ran to catch her if she fell.

"Where is he?" her voice came out in a faint whisper barely understandable.

There was no answer for they were both inwardly debating weather she should witness the accident.

"Where is he?" she screamed as loud as her frail lungs would permit, he hands shaking.

"He's in the town square, but miss…"

That's all she heard, for she bolted out the door, a shawl or jacket forgotten and uncared about. As she ran a burst of bitter air smacked her clear from the front, but she kept on.

-No! No! No, Raoul _couldn't_ have been shot! Where was Manuel!-

She felt as if she were going to be sick. Raoul had given _her_ Manuel, his bodyguard, the man who could've stopped the attacker.

For all she knew, he could be lying dead in the town square and it was all her fault! She ran faster ignoring the jabbing pain from her corset.

The square was coming into view. There was a massive amount of people whispering, standing nearby and she advanced as fast as she could toward them.

The whispers became louder and she heard part of a conversation. A woman in a royal blue gown whispered, "Oh, dear, poor man! Where was his bodyguard?"

A man nearby answered, "I hear he stayed home because Monsieur le Vicomte's fiancée ordered it."

Christine cried out in shock. That _wasn't_ what happened! How could that man say such a thing?

She had no time to reflect for she charged into the crowd, shoving the numerous amounts of people with her arms.

She got many crude remarks such as: "Hey! Watch it!" and "We want to know what's going on two you know!." She paid no mind to them and only shoved harder.

After nearly wresting people to the ground she reached the front of the crowd. She gasped and nearly fainted at the scene. It seemed as if five-dozen gendarmes were pushing people backwards as one was trying to talk to Raoul. She began to run toward him, but was stopped by four restraining arms.

"I'm sorry madam, no one may pass."

Christine squirmed and pushed into the men's arms trying deaperatly to find a weak spot. "Let me go! Please! Let me see him!"

"Only family members may…"

"I'm his fiancée!" her voice cracked and she began to cry.

"_You're_ his fiancée?"

"Yes! Please, I beg of you! Please! Let me through!"

The girl's cries went to the men's hearts and the arms released her and she ran toward the limp figure lying on the street. "Raoul! Raoul!"

Another gendarme moved to let her though and she sunk to her knees and picked up Raoul's head gently and repeated, "Raoul."

"Ch…ris…tine…" He gasped.

"Yes, dear. I'm here."

Christine…I…love…you…" she could tell this was the use of his last ounce of strength.

"Oh, Raoul! I love you too. Don't worry, dear, don't worry!" She stared down at his incredibly pale face. "Raoul, the doctors will be here any minute and you'll be alright again. We'll run away together and get married tomorrow." She sobbed and took one of his hands I hers. "We'll get married tomorrow and we'll start a family three girls and two boys, just like we always wanted… Stay with me, Raoul!" she screamed as his hand became colder and he lost even more color in his face, which she didn't think was possible.

"I…love…you…" his eyes fluttered closed.

"I love you, too."

And that was it… he took his last breath and was gone forever.

Comprehension began.

He was gone. _He was gone and it was all her fault!_ She threw her body over his limp one and sobbed. She sobbed hysterically and a great heaviness fell upon her shoulders, the heaviness of loss. No! Raoul was gone! –Why! Why couldn't the killer have taken her life? Why did he have to kill such a kind, loving man? - This only made her sob harder.

She felt hands under her arms lifting her up. She covered her face with her hands still crying. Someone was leading her away from the terrible accident. "Raoul." She whispered. Wishing he was the one leading her away.

She looked up to see who was guiding her… no one. This made no sense. She turned her head to the left and she saw a transparent figure holding her to him. She stared harder.

"I'm sorry." He said

Chrsitne was speechless.

"I love you, don't forget me." He whispered.

Raoul. No, it was Raoul's spirit.

"I won't, I promise."

he wiped away her tears with his nearly invisible hand, and with that he vanished within the wind, she reached her hand out…nothing. It was at that moment that Christine knew that she would never see him again…

**A/N- Hope you all like it! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!**


	14. A Needed Visit

**Thanks for reviewing Lady Elanya, Twinkle, Isilee, Angel of Music, and Andama for reviewing! You guys are the best!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however, are mine.

**Chapter 14**

She had no tears left…

She sat on the couch, in the mansion, which she now owned since Raoul had given her everything in his will. Numbness filled her inside, the numbness of loosing someone dear to you.

-How long had it been? A year, maybe two? –

She opened a folded newspaper clipping she held tightly in her hand from the day before. –Only three days.- The numbness deepened. –All the pain, it seems so long ago yet it feels like yesterday…-

She unfolded the clipping again and began to read it for the umpteenth time.

_**The Vicomte de Chagny is Dead**_

_Yesterday afternoon in the town square, the Vicomte de Chagny was shot in the stomach by Edward Klinen, a banker from the north side of Paris._

_A witness stated: "Monsieur le Vicomte seemed to be in a foul mood that afternoon and he continuously threw pebbles at everything." The witness took a breath and went on, "He walked into the square and Monsieur Klinen looked even moodier that the Vicomte, if possible. Monsieur Klinen was pelted with a few pebbles, and that seemed to break every one of his nerves at once. The next thing I knew Monsieur Klinene's gun was out, and the Vicomte on the floor."_

_We asked his fiancée if there was any reason anyone should have killed him. We assumed maybe a debt that hadn't been paid off, but she nearly bit our heads off for even stating such a thing. "No! No one had any right to kill him! He was a good, kindhearted man!" …_

She looked up from the clipping. –I was questioned for this? I don't remember…-

_She became a mute after that, refusing to talk to us and ordering to leave or she'd get the gendarmes on us. _

_Edward Klinen was arrested last night and is sentenced for a lifetime in jail._

Hatred filled her body, - I hope he rots to death in that hellhole of a place they call 'jail!'- Her mind screamed. She was going to go crazy, she knew it. The numbness was back… he wouldn't want her to go crazy. She wouldn't! She'd refuse it!

There was a soft knock at the door. She stiffened. No! She _refused _to answer the door. That last time…

Raoul's butler, now her butler, went to answer the door. –No more interviewers, please. - She begged within herself. She had had enough of them, always pestering her for 'a word' or 'a comment'. Why couldn't they leave her alone? Why couldn't they get that she was morning for a loss?

"Christine?" she heard a soft voice of a friend as she walked through the threshold.

She quickly turned to see Meg, her midnight black eyes staring back at her. Meg sat down next to her closest friend, "Christine, I'm so sorry."

Just when she thought no more tears would come, they did, and quickly. Meg embraced her friend searching for a word of empathy, "Christine, I know you must miss him terribly."

-Is _that_ supposed to help? - Meg thought to herself. –I'm such a stupid fool I shouldn't have said anything. –

"I do!" Christine sobbed, "I do miss him terribly! He was my company during the day! Oh how could I have been so heartless?"

"What do you mean?"

"The last thing we talked about was…_he_. Oh, why did he have to save me! Why couldn't he just leave me be?"

"Who. Christine, who?"

"The Phantom."

…That was a mistake…

"That's impossible, Christine, he's dead and has been for some weeks now."

"No, no he's not. He visited me at the hospital and he saved me from the darkness."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Meg was deeply hurt, they told each other everything.

"I'm sorry." She whispered before breaking down, "I can't stand it here any longer! There are too many memories! For the past two days I've been watching couples laugh and talk, the way he and I used to and… and it hurts too much! I miss him so much!"

Meg thought for a moment listening to the sounds of the carriages roll by. "Christine, do you want to go on a trip?"

Christine looked skeptically at her friend, "What do you mean?"

"I mean you should go to London or Spain, or maybe back to Sweden."

"No I couldn't go alone, its not ladylike."

"I'll go, we could pretend we were sisters like we used to when we were younger, do you remember?"

Christine couldn't help but smile a little. How could she forget, the two would reek havoc on the whole cast of the Opera Populaire. "I think that sounds like a good idea."

"Where to then, Sweden?"

"Oh, I've always wanted to go to London."

"Lets go this evening, pack your things," Meg lifted Christine's chin up. "I'll see you later my sister."

With that Meg got up, her long waits length jet-black hair swinging behind her, and left.

Christine saw her to the door the fled up to her room where she quickly packed a few items in her trunk, missing something that lay on her dresser in sadness…


	15. Alone

**Thanks for reviewing Lady Elanya, Twinkle, Isilee, and Andama! You guys rock!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however, are mine.

**Chapter 15**

-Was I out of my mind? – He asked himself. Why had he made himself know to her? He should have just walked her there and ran right back to this torture chamber of a home.

He had locked himself up in his solitude, refusing to see The Persian, who ceaselessly banged on the door claiming he needed to tell him something of importance, and burning all the daily papers he received.

He had found that anger was more tolerable that sadness and easily accepted the bitterness that came with it. He hated being this way, locked up in a flat that he couldn't even call his own. He smashed the decanter of brandy he held against the table. The beige colored liquid poured over his hand staining the tablecloth.

-I despise her. – He tried convincing himself over and over again, but it was like trying to teach an alto the highest of soprano songs. His chest seared with heartache and he grabbed his cloak. He threw it over him quickly pulling the hood down so that his face was engulfed in darkness and unlocked the numerous locks on the door with nimble hands.

The door slammed behind him as he walked down the street. It felt good to be out and not confined like an animal.

He wished that he could take back the last year and start over. He wished he could have kept to his own business like he had always done in the past. He wished he didn't even bother with the ballerina that won over his heard the first time he laid eyes on her…

-No! – His mind screamed and he swore under his breath. Would he never forget?

He hadn't realized that he was walking to the Victome's home until it was too late. He saw baggage being loaded into the carriage and automatically assumed that Christine and the fop were going away to be married.

He now regretted sneaking up the tree outside Christine's window and placing that letter on her bureau, but what's done is done, and he needed to live up to his part of the note.

He silently slithered down the street unnoticed and knocked into someone. His hands flew up quickly and he adjusted his hood but before he could get a good look at the person who stood in front of him, a loud scream erupted before him.

"You!" screamed the woman before him; she had a heavy Spanish accent that he vaguely recognized. "You! It's him! How could you have done that to my Piangi! How could you?"

"I'm sure you are mistaken, Madame."

"I'm sure you are mistaken." She mimicked tears beginning to fall down her face. "No I am _not _mistaken!"

"Excuse me." He said and shoved her out of his way, annoyed at her outburst.

She broke down into sobs and covered her face in her hands. He quickened his pace, for he wanted no one to know 'The Phantom of the Opera' was roaming the streets alone, and heartbroken…

* * *

**A/N- **Okay, here's a little bit of Erik. I'm warning you he wont come up in a few chapters, so I wanted to have his come in, even if it was a short chapter. I promise I'll update soon... tomorrow! I'll update tomorrow! 


	16. The Depot

**Twinkle- I hope you like this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however, are mine.

**Chapter 16**

Christine met Meg at the depot for the evening train. The thrill of traveling was gone and was again replaced by sadness.

They found two empty seats and abruptly sat down for there feet hurt terribly. Christine sat on the inside and Meg the outside for she got sick easily if she looked out the window. On the contrary, Christine happened to like the window seats, so this created no problem for her.

The travel reminded her so much of Raoul for he used to travel frequently to and fro from London. What possessed her to want to go to London, she did not know. Nor did she care; she wanted to leave France to get away for a while to clear her head.

"Are you okay?" Meg's voice cut through her thoughts. She must have had an odd look on her face, because she was staring at her funny.

"Yes." Christine said quietly and looked to her right out the large window.

Meg sighed and watched all the people scrambling for seats, yelling for loved ones to follow them. She heard a rustled scrambling.

Meg slapped her hand on her head once she saw the woman stumbling towards them, tears in her eyes.

"Hello La Carlotta."

"Don't you _Hello La Carlotta_ me!" she yelled disrupting the whole train. "You _knew _he was still alive even though the papers begged to differ. DIDN'T YOU!" Carlotta bellowed at Christine who tried desperately to ignore her.

"Is it true?" She screamed.

"La Carlotta, please." Meg pleaded.

"Silence little toad!"

That was the straw that broke the back. Christine got up quickly and screamed, "I didn't know! I didn't know until a few weeks ago! I didn't _want_ to know! Leave now and I don't _ever_ want to see you again!"

Carlotta gaped at her sudden outburst as a conductor walk over to them. "Excuse me, do you have a ticket?" Christine flashed her ticket and Carlotta continued to gape, now aware all eyes were on them. She had no ticket… she just wanted to come and show the little twit up.

The conductor led the diva away by her upper arm as Christine sat back down tears forming in her pale blue eyes. She hated Carlotta with every fiber of her being and she knew she would hate her until the day she died.

**Meg's Point of View**

As the train started moving, I felt unsure if this was the right thing to do for Christine. Maybe she just needed time to grieve in her own house.

I could her whispers all around us about the Vicomte's death and the baritone's murder at the Opera a few months ago, and I knew Christine could hear them too.

I truly felt bad for her. Nothing ever seemed to go right for her. First her father, then the incident with the Opera Ghost, then Raoul…

I looked around for anyone who might be willing to talk and slightly met eyes with a man sitting opposite of us. I quickly did a double take for he was staring intently at Christine.

I looked over at her; she was staring at the embroidery on one of Raoul's old handkerchiefs, the **RdC **shone in a bright red that looked lost on the off-white surface.

Whoever this was, I already didn't like him. Couldn't he see she was in a state of depression? I stamped my foot on the floor of the train, just enough to get his attention, and he diverted his eyes to mine as I gave him an unfriendly glare.

He apparently got the picture and quickly turned his eyes away from us, but before long, I felt his gaze linger on us for a second time…


	17. Invitations

**Thanks again all my reviewers! You are the best!**

**Sorry for the delay on Friday, I tried to post as fast as I could. Well, here's Chapter 17!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however, are mine.

**Chapter 17**

"Christine, come on. You need to get out of the house for a while. You've been secluding ever since we came, and Mr. Cavanaugh has so nicely invited us to his annual Christmas Masque." Meg stated, hoping Christine would let her guard down and go to the ball.

Charles Cavanaugh had become a good friend of the two girls during the past two weeks and they were constantly in his company.

Meg forgave him about the day on the train. His excuse was 'Christine looked like an old friend of mine.' She wasn't sure he was telling the truth, but he was too comical and kind to stay mad at for long.

"You go, Meg."

"It'll be good for you to get out. Come, Christine, It will be fun."

Christine could tell Meg was on the verge of pleading.

She would've gone, but she didn't want to run the risk of reliving her last masque. Her depression deepened, for she hated to let her friends down.

"Meg," Christine pleaded. "Just go without me. I have things to catch up on anyway."

"Things to catch up on, ha!." She said sarcastically, "Honestly, you think I'm going to have fun knowing my best friend is entering a new level of depression? No, I'm not going unless you get off yourbacksideand go too."

"I'm telling you I'll be fine."

Meg let out a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest and sat down next to Christine, crossed her legs and began tapping her foot on the wooden floor.

There was a knock on the door, when neither one of them showed any sign of movement, Meg called for the visitor to come in.

Charles walked through the door, his striking grey eyes traveled from Christine, to Meg, back to Christine again.

"Hello ladies! Oh, now what's all this moodiness?" he teased, trying to create some conversation.

"Christine is being difficult." Meg said bluntly, ignoring the slight glare Christine gave her.

"What's all this about?" He sat down next to Christine and tickled her side. She squirmed trying to suppress a laugh, but failed completely. "Now, that's the Christine I want to see more of."

She looked down at her feet. She had never had anyone compliment her openly before and she couldn't fight the smile and the redness creeping into her cheeks. She looked up into his eyes, and it looked as if he wanted her to say something.  
She felt horrible, for he had told her nearly everything about him from his childhood to his heritage: she had told him nothing. Well, of course the basics, 'Hi, I'm Christine, and I lived in France since I was a child.' That was pretty much the extent of it. She wanted to forget her past, and talking about it only made her feel as if it were the present.

"Are my two favorite girls coming to the ball?"

Oh, that wasn't fair…

Meg was silent, staring at Christine waiting for an answer. Christine knowing she must say yes.

"Of course we'll be there." Christine said softly.

"Until then ladies." He smiled and bowed to them playfully.

He walked out the door into the chilled air and heard him walking dow the cobbelstone street.

"Oh this it's going to be so much fun!" Meg exclaimed hugging herself.

-Maybe it will be fun, maybe it wont be like last time. –Christine thought about the ball until nightfall,when drowsiness racked her body and she fell into an uneasy slumber.


	18. The Masqued Ball

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however, are mine.

**Chapter 18**

Christine and Meg sat in the carriage, dressed and ready for the masque. Christine sighed and leaned her head against the back wall of the carriage. Was this a good idea?

It was too late to think twice, before she knew it, someone had opened the carriage's door and offered a hand to help them out.

Meg gracefully got up and disappeared through the opening and Christine followed.

Both girls stared up in awe. The mansion was decorated in gold, green, and red. Everything was draped in garland, and to their immediate right, a Christmas tree stood at lease 10 feet tall speckled with ornaments and holly.

"Hello my dears." Said a mysterious voice behind them.

Christine whirled around as her eyes widened. Staring back at her was the mask she so clearly remembered. It covered half a face and the man was dressed all in black, a cape hung loosely over his shoulders. Christine gasped and nearly fainted.

"Christine, did I startle you?"

She was incapable of speech; fear churned her stomach.

"Christine?" Meg asked concerned waving her hand in front of Christine's pale face.

"It's just me," the man stated talking off the mask. She breathed out a sigh of relief; it was only Charles. "Are you alright?"

"Yes sorry, I'm fine." She forced a smile.

He placed the mask back on his face looped each girls arm through his; Meg on the left, Christine on his right. "Come, I want you to meet some old friends of mine."

He led them trough crowd after crowd of masked men and women whispering, laughing, eating, and dancing. He halted before a group at the far side of the enormous room.

"Hey!" one of the men yelled, "Look who it is crew, its little Charlie!"

Charles erupted in laughter and introduced the two girls.

"I've never seen you before, are you visiting?" One woman dressed as a maid inquired.

"We're visiting from France." Christine answered, "We're staying here a while."

"France! Oh, I've read about France. George," she nudged a man garmented as a pirate, "isn't that where that article was from a few months a few months ago?"

"Which article?" Meg prodded.

"The one about the Pairs Opera House. It said the Opera was burned to the ground after the Don Juan Triumphant opera. It also said that the girl in the performance was kidnapped and dragged down under the bowels of the Opera by 'the Opera Ghost'. The Vicomte followed with another man, who name was not mentioned, and the Vicomte narrowly escaped death. It said he was nearly hung by the Punjab lasso, the police found it on the floor of the so called 'cave'." Answered the woman dressed as a maid.

Christine's heart stopped.

"I remember reading about that too," said Meg a bit too quickly and glanced at Christine anxiously, of whom terror etched plainly on her face.

"Oh, poor dear." Christine said quietly lowering her eyes to the floor.

France knew, London knew who else knew the story of her life?

Christine felt as if she couldn't breathe, she still couldn't grasp the concept that HER story was published in the London paper. She felt like fainting and threw Meg a pleading glance.

"Charles, would you kindly point us in the direction of the washroom?"

He pointed to their left and Meg grabbed Christine arm and nearly ran.

"Oh, dear God!" Christine exclaimed "Dear, God!"

Meg placed a hand on her own head and shook it, "I didn't think it would've gotten this far."

"They know my…Good Lord!"

Meg flipped out her fan and gave it to the hyperventilating Christine.

"Don't worry, I'm sure…"

Christine glared at Meg and fell backwards into a chair covering her face in her petite hands.

"I think I'm going to be sick," croaked Christine, running to the balcony a few yards away, shutting the balcony's doors behind her.

Meg straightened; they mustn't suspect anything was wrong. She began walking back toward the group; Christine needed time to herself.

"Where's Christine?" Charles called to her once she was in view.

"She wasn't feeling well; I suggested some fresh air," she lied.

Charles rushed from the group searching for Christine. He walked past the set are brass-knobbed doors and did a double take.

Through the transparent doors, he saw her sitting on one of the hard wooden chairs her elbows resting on the rail, her face buried in them.

He opened the doors, which made a small clicking noise and walked over to her. He shoulders were shaking…she was crying…

"Christine? What's the matter?" he pulled over another chair and sat down next to her.

She lifted her head, shaking it in the process. "Nothing," her voice broke as she looked up into the full moon, the tears shimmered on her cheeks, "Nothing. You wouldn't understand."

"Christine," he touched her arm, "you can tell me. We're friends aren't we?"

"Of course were friends."

"Come then, I promise I won't tell."

"No! You don't understand!" she sobbed, "See this," she tore the mask off his face, "this is MY story!" he hands began to shake.

"What?"

"The girl from the article, from France, the ballerina, the captive, that was me! He was my teacher of voice, he was so kind and gentile… but then! Then he turned mad and vicious when he saw Raoul and me together. Dear, God, he nearly killed Raoul the day he rescued me!

Charles stared at her dumbstruck.

"That was you?"

"A lot to swallow isn't it?" she said bitterly.

"Where's the Vicomte?"

At the mention of his name, her heart lurched in sadness. "He was shot near three weeks ago."

"I'm so sorry."

"As I."

"The ghost, the phantom, where…"

"I don't know where he is."

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours as Charles mind processed what he had just heard and Christine cried, knowing it was a mistake going the ball…


	19. Flames of Torment

**A/N- Hi everyone! I'm soooooo sorry I haven't updated in a while, I was on an hiatus…but here's Chapter 19. Enjoy!**

Thank you ChristinelovesPhantom, Twinkle, Isilee, Lady Elanya, and prettyinpinkgal for reviewing!

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however, are mine.

**Chapter 19**

She threw off her mask, disgusted with how the night ended. It was wonderfully fun trying to hide your identity, so bloody, wonderfully fun.

Her eyes felt like lead as she trudged her way up the large cherry wood steps. She hadn't had a good night's sleep in over two weeks and recently began suffering from boughs of exhaustion, but not tonight. Tonight she was going to sleep peacefully.

Once she got up to her room, she undressed and slipped on her nightgown and braided her hair sloppily.

She looked into her mirrored nightstand and was greeted with surprise. She hadn't taken a good look at herself in days, fearing her own reflection. She was pale now, too pale perhaps. She had large gray ringlets encircling her dim eyes, and her gaze always far away…

She tore her glance away. She needed to do something with herself and she would start with sleep to be rid of the gray ringlets.

As soon as her head it the pillow, she was asleep, unable to be awoken…

A figure entered her dreams, followed by a door and…and an organ? She couldn't decipher the last object.

Everything was silent, even though the mans mouth was moving; he seemed to be angry. She strained her ears for a noise. Nothing.

He turned to the side and she could see his mouth. She squinted her eyes to make out the words he was yelling.

"_So, just because I'm disfigured I have no feelings?" _he screamed

He seemed to be referring to the person on the other side of the door

_"Well that's exactly what you implied!" _

The conversation was odd from this point of view, for she was reading lips and only got the one side of the argument. Who was he speaking to? What was the disagreement about?

Before she could figure anything else out, he smashed a vase on the ground, startling her. He turned his face wholly around and she caught a glimpse of those piercing gold eyes she'd never forget.

In the blink of an eye, it all disappeared and was replaced by a street.

Darkness cloaked her left side and she was unable to view anything within its bowels. She turned to her right and there was France, France and everything else she knew. When she looked closer, she saw Raoul, his arms outstretched towards her, beckoning her to him.

She glanced from left to right numerous times unable to choose. In some strange way, the darkness intrigued her, but she wasn't going to give up what she knew and loved.

She took a step toward her right and one of her bare feet began to tingle. She looked behind her and saw a tsunami of flaring flames coming toward her.

She froze to the spot as the flames wrapped themselves around her ankles, licking the bottom of her calf. The flames tugged at her ankle sending her to the floor as they dragged her closer to the darkness. Her eyes were wide with terror as she turned her face towards Raoul, but he was gone.

She dug her fingernails into the grass and grabbed hold of the pavement in desperate attempts to escape from the fire. She tried to scream, but all was silent save the crackling of the deathly flames now around her thighs.

She franticly beat them with her palms, but they refused to recede. Now restraining her wrists, the red-oranges flames stung viciously. She caught her last glimpse of the light and was plunged fully in darkness

"Christine!" she felt hands clamp onto her shoulders, shaking her awake.

Christine woke with a start, shaking violently and drenched in cold sweat. Her head throbbed and she felt faint.

"What…what happened?" Christine asked the worried-looking Meg who was standing beside Christine's four-poster bed.

"Id like to ask you the same question."

"How did you know the dream was frightening?" Christine inquired.

"The screams gave a big hint. That and you looked like you were having a seizure."

"It…it was horrible Meg!" Christine cried

"What happened?"

"I saw him and Raoul! Then…then I was engulfed in flames." She could still feel the burning sensation around her ankles. "I thought I was dying, I really did!" she sobbed the dream feeling all too real.

"It's okay," Meg said embracing her friend, "It's okay. He's not here and there are no flames. I promise if there were, I'd…" What could she do?

Christine sobbed on her friend's shoulder, "Don't let him come here!"

"I wont I promise. If he does ill beat him with one of these bed posts" She promised and she'd stick to that promise. Poor Christine didn't need this; she had enough on her plate without adding fear.

"Thank you." Christine said laying back down and falling asleep, but this time peacefully…


	20. New Found Love?

Thank you Twinkle and prettyinpinkgal for reviewing!

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however, are mine.

**A/N- Hey I decided to add a little comic relief since the story has been non-stop depressing since it started. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 20**

**2 Months Later---February**

"No! How many times do I have to say it; no!"

"Christine! I don't care _what_ you say, I'm taking you and Meg to the theater!"

Had he learned nothing…

Christine sighed wishing rolling her eyes was not such an unladylike gesture. The theater in London was expensive, especially since he wanted to rent out a box…

"Charles," she said sternly with no surrendering hint in her voice, "I'm not allowing you to spend all that money!"

He raised a perfectly arched hazelnut colored eyebrow and a sly smile crept over his handsome features.

"May I inquire as to what is so amusing?" she asked, clearly loosing her patience.

"You want to go, don't you?"

You see _that_ was an unfair question. In some sense, yes, in another, absolutely not!

"No." she said folding her arms over her chest turning away from him, trying to hide her guilty face from his gaze.

He laughed long and hard, "Oh, yes you do." He playfully caught her neck in the crook of his arm.

She let out a cry of surprise and began flailing her arms, laughing all the while.

They kept up the game until both players could barely breathe. He let her go and she stumbled nearly falling over in her attempt to allow air to flow freely through her esophagus.

"Christine, please, just this once." He stuck out his bottom lip and widened his eyes, until he looked like a child begging for a piece of candy at the market.

"You know I always give in to the pout! That's an unfair advantage!" she joked

"Yes, well you must learn you friends weaknesses."

At that moment, she really heard him. The first week she came to the London, he had told her that he had been born and raised here. But as she listened to him speak, there was no British accent, which was strange. This caused much controversy in her mind, but she was too timid to ask him why.

"Okay, okay fine, but only if you agree to stop with that ridiculous face." She smiled.

He let out a relived sigh, "Good thing, I've already purchased them."

Christine's jaw dropped in shock, "I…" she stammered.

To her response, he bowed mockingly, grabbed his hat and jacket and walked out the door, chuckling to himself all the while.

"I would have like to see his face if I said 'No,'" she laughed as she pictured her rejecting his offer.

"Meg!" she called up the stairs as she began to advance toward them. "Meg, Charles has invi…"

But as she pushed open the door, the frame squeaked and she quickly silenced herself.

Broderick, a man she had met at the Masque ball a few months ago, was holding Meg in his arms as she toyed with the collar of his jacket. He bowed his head and kissed her gently.

Christine had to put the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. Meg, little Meg who used to spit in the eyes of younger boys and stomp on their feet if they just so much as looked at her.

Christine cleared her throat to make her presence know. Meg jumped about five feet from Broderick and her face turned a violent shade of crimson.

"You remember Broderick," Meg squeaked diverting her ink black eyes from Christine's powder blue ones.

Christine nodded biting her bottom lip.

"Hello," he said as he glanced at his watch, "Oh, look at the time, I must be off. I'll see you another time, Meg."

She nodded and as he strode quickly out of the relatively large room, Christine glanced behind her noticing that the back of his ears were almost as red as Meg's face.

"Christine! Don't tell mama!" she pleaded, for Madame Giry hadn't wanted Meg to go to London in the first place for this precise reason.

Christine tapped the tip of her index finger against her lips before reciting, "Dear Madame Giry, I'm sorry to inform you that your daughter has been about some tomfoolery. She is…"

"Christine!" Meg laughed punching her upper arm.

The two girls giggled for a moment afterwards, before Christine remember what she came up her for.

"That cad Mr. Cavanaugh has swindled me into agreeing that the two of us would go to the theater with him."

Meg clapped he hands together, "That sound like fun!"

"Indeed it does. Indeed it does."

**A/N- Hey sorry this chapters not so good, its only a connecter but its necessary for the next chapter… dun dun dun! Lol, just kidding, nothing bad is going to happen…. Or maybe it will… hmmmmm…. SUSPENCE! Haha!**


	21. The Reality of Imagination

Thank you Twinkle and Robika for reviewing! You don't know how much it means to me!

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however, are mine.

**Chapter 21**

As Christine, Charles, and Meg stood at the threshold of the grand theater; the girls gaped at its beauty. It was completely different from the used-to-be Opera Populaire save for the split staircase that lead to the balconies and boxes.

"Are you ready girls?" Charles smirked.

The nodded in unison, as they were unable to look away from the intricate detail of the walls and floor.

Charles laughed and linked an arm of each woman through one of his.

Even through all the excitement of the theater, Christine felt a hollow sensation inside of her chest. For nearly two months now, she had been having reoccurring dreams of _him_ and his gold eyes. Oddly, she looked forward to these dreams and they seemed to get her through the day. But last night, to her dismay, there was no dream and she had awoken in a foul mood.

Christine turned her head quickly to the right, for she thought she saw… -No, we are in _London_- she had to remind herself over and over again.

Charles led the two girls up the stairs to the box he had so graciously rented out. Christine looked up and two little words jumped out at her and smack her square between the eyes: BOX FIVE.

Wonderful. She took a deep breath and slowly pulled back the privacy curtain and emerged on the other side, seeming fine.

She had a bad feeling about this…

"What show are we seeing?" Meg asked excitedly, clearly missing the plaque above them.

"The Double Inconstancy." He stated as he adjusted his tailcoat and sat down.

At the quizzical looks the two girls gave him he laughed and said, "It's about a French prince who falls in love with a peasant girl who happens to be betrothed to a handsome Harlequin. But he is driven mind you, and orders the two to stay at his palace where he disguises himself as an officer. It's supposed to be quite funny."

"I sounds positively delightful." Meg exclaimed.

Christine could tell Meg was ecstatic for she had never seen a performance before save for the performances she danced in, and that was completely different.

The lights dimmed and the red velvet curtain rose swiftly: The show had started.

Christine never remembered laughing so hard in her life.

As the crowd erupted again into laughter, Christine went to smack her hand on the armrest, but missed and it fell on Charles lower arm. She didn't notice she had kept it there until she felt eyes bearing into her. She looked up as he looked down at his arm. She quickly retrieved it and placed both her hands in her lap, looking down. She could feel her face becoming hot. He chuckled.

She looked up towards his face again; his stare so kind that she instantly forgot why she was embarrassed.

She stiffened as if shot, she could feel eyes bearing intently into her back. She whirled around in her seat, clutching the back of the chair.

Her eyes wavered in the darkness before turning around to face the stage. The audience exploded in laughter again, but she didn't feel joyous any longer.

She quickly shook off the thought of being watched; telling herself it was her own imagination.

**XoX---XoX**

The performance was over and the giddy trio made their way back to their homes, fatigue beginning to pinch their eyelids.

Christine and Meg strode into the nice sized house, where they were stopped by the stout butler.

"A letter for you Mademoiselle Megan." He said holding out a small note with the word _URGENT _written sloppily across it.

Meg opened it and a cry escaped her lips as her knees began to buckle…

**A/N- Special thanks to **http/record. **for this is where I found all my info about 'The Double Inconstancy'**. **I hope you like this chapter! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW and tell me how you think the story is going or if you have any suggestions or questions. Hope everyone had a Happy Thanksgiving! **


	22. Meg's Departure

Christinelovesphantom, Twinkle22, Robika, Scully35, Prettyinpinkgal, Isilee, and Lady Elanya- Thank you so much for reviewing! It means so much to me!

**A/N- Hi everyone! Christinelovesphantom brought up a good point… I haven't put Erik in the fic for a while. Don't worry though he'll be coming soon!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however, are mine.

**Chapter 22**

Christine caught Meg under the arms just as her knees gave way; She stood her back up.

"What, Meg? What's wrong?" Christine was fretful by the look on her friends face.

Meg hesitated before answering, "It's mama. She's just been put into the hospital. I knew she'd been having problem with her leg, but…" She looked up from the note, "she fell down the stairs in our flat and is suffering from a severe concussion and a broken arm."

Christine knew that Madame Giry and Meg were always very tight knit, no matter how easily they hid it when they were dancing, and worry was clear on Meg's face.

"Meg, we must go back to France and tend to her. She needs our help."

Meg must have seen a glint of uncertainty in her eyes for she laid a hand on her friends shoulder, "No, Christine. You're not ready to go back. I'll go and attend to mama; you stay here."

Christine opened her mouth to protest, but Meg sent her one of her most famous 'don't argue with me' stares she acquired from her mother.

"When is the next train?" she inquired as she jotted down a short message for Broderick.

"In a few hours…" but before Christine could continue, Meg thrust the note in her hand.

"Please go give this to Broderick and tell him I'm sorry." And with that Meg bolted up the stairs.

As Christine opened the large oak door, she heard the scratching of Meg's trunk against the wooden floor and wished she could do something more for Madame Giry.

**XoX---XoX**

"Excuse me, but is Mr. Thopson available?" Christine asked the tall, lanky butler standing at the door sheepishly, staring at the ground.

"Your name madam?"

"Tell him I am a friend of Meg Giry."

He nodded impatiently and disappeared behind the door.

Christine sighed and looked around at her surroundings. She turned leaning her lower back against the metal banister as her mind wandered.

In some sort of strange bazaar way, she missed Paris. She missed all the people and the atmosphere was completely different there than it was here…

"Mr. Thopson will see you now. Please come this way."

As she stepped forward two of the maids rushed to her side shedding her of her coat. "Oh!" she exclaimed, surprised by their quickness, "thank you."

They only curtsied slightly, hung her coat up on the rack and fled.

As they approached Broderick's office door, she wondered how he would take the news. He and Meg had been inseparable lately and the two seemed very much in love.

"Here we are." The butler stated stiffly, his white-gloved hands behind his back.

"Thank you." She said and as he began to turn away she knocked light on the door.

She could barely make out his words for the door was so thick, but she assumed he had commanded her to 'come in', so she opened the door slowly.

"Hello, Miss. Daae." He said looking up from what he was reading and smiled.

"Hello. I'm terribly sorry for the late call, but it was urgent that I give this to you." She handed the small folded piece of paper; He just stared at her anxiously. "It's from Meg."

He stood abruptly, "What's wrong is she alright?" he ran over his words.

"She's fine, its…"

But she couldn't finish, for Broderick was already reading the small note.

He blankly stared at it, and that's when she knew he had finished skimming it. "She told me to tell you that she is so sorry."

"When is she leaving?" he asked blankly. Whatever was written on the note had truly hurt him.

"In a few hours." Christine replied. "She's packing now."

He called to the butler and he rushed in and straightened his shoulders, "Yes, sir?"

"Pack my bags, I'm going on an extended trip."

"What are you doing?" Christine's brows furrowed.

"They must be packed extremely quickly. I'm leaving in a few moments."

The butler bowed and rushed from the room to retrieve the maids.

"What are you doing?" Christine repeated.

"I can't just let her go!" he rounded on her. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me and I can't just let her walk out of my life."

Christine nodded, "I understand."

They stood in silence for a mere ten minutes before the butler returned flushed and out of breath. "Everything is packed sir."

"Thank you." He said sternly and then turned to Christine quickly. "How did you get here?"

"I walked."

"You _walked_! That's a long walk is it not?"

"Yes it was."

"Ready the carriage, Jameson!" he exclaimed rushing out the door with Christine at his heals, unsure of what to do.

As Christine hurried, she didn't realize the large trunk in front of her. She tripped over it, trying to regain her balance she questioned, "Do you need help bringing these to the carriage?"

"No, a woman should never carry something this heavy, but thank you for the offer."

She smiled inwardly. What a gentleman he was! He reminded her so much of Raoul, Meg was so very fortunate…

**XoX---XoX**

"Christine!" Meg yelled running down the stairs, her hair askew, tears running from her jet-black eyes. "Please help me carry my trunk down!"

Christine nodded and ran up the stairs, Meg not far behind.

The two girls lifted the what seemed to be 200 pound trunk and trudged down the stairs incredibly slowly afraid of loosing their footing and falling to their death.

Meg's tears fell more rapidly now, and Christine could tell that she regretted her decision to let Broderick deeply. The poor dear, if only she knew.

But Meg was to preoccupied with her thoughts to notice her love hurrying to meet them, putting his hands under the plain trunk and lifting it, taking most of the weight off the girls.

Meg sighed placing her side of the trunk on the ground by the door, "I miss him already."

"Meg!" he cried, embracing her.

Comprehension began for Meg.

He was here! He was here with her and he had…trunks?

"Darling, I'm coming with you, you need not worry. I'm here, a shoulder to cry on."

**XoX---XoX**

Within moments, the numerous packages were stored away. Meg and Broderick stored within the bowels of the vast carriage.

"Give your mother my best wishes." Christine yelled over neighing of the horses.

"I will I promise."

The surrey pulled away and Christine stood on the sidewalk waving her goodbyes, hoping to see them again soon…


	23. Return of the Opera Ghost

Christinelovesphantom, Twinkle22, Robika, Prettyinpinkgal, - Thank you so much for reviewing! It means so much to me! **Hands out Erik plushies**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however, are mine

**Chapter 23**

She had dozed off with her head gently laid upon Broderick's left shoulder. She was exhausted from the carriage ride to the train, which they were now on. Her mouth open slightly; her breathing deep. He smiled down at her lovingly, and nudged her slowly awake.

"Meg, dear. Come Meg, were almost there." He cooed as her eyes slowly fluttered open.

"We are?" she smiled.

He nodded and smiled, but he was troubled. Meg had a life in Paris once upon a time. Was she previously in love? Should he be afraid that she would leave him? As he looked down, she smiled this huge, genuine, loving smile and he knew everything was fine.

The train came to a sudden stop and Broderick looked out the window on his right.

Paris was beautiful.

Meg laughed and she opened the compartment's door, only to be knocked backwards by the rushing heard of people.

She steadied herself and patiently waited for the mob to slowly disintegrate into the daylight before grabbing the handle of her trunk and pulling it across the train.

"Are you coming?" she yelled over her shoulder playfully. It was so nice to be back home!

"I'm right behind you, dear." He answered.

They emerged onto the large platform, panting and laughing.

"Miss Giry."

She whirled around to see a black hooded figure standing behind her.

"Welcome back." He said dryly. "Take your companion and follow me."

Oh, Lord! Christine _wasn't _lying! He _was _still alive!

"B-B-Broderick, dear!" she stuttered, grabbing his writs and pulling him forward. "Lets go."

The Phantom nodded once and strode past her. "Keep up, for I shall not wait."

She bobbed her head up and down quickly and began to follow him, Broderick's writs still clenched in her frightened grip.

The three walked in silence. The Phantom leading, with the two lovebirds a mere 10 steps behind.

"Who is he?" Broderick asked, jealousy twisting his insides into knots.

She panicked for a second trying to find an answer, "An acquaintance from the opera house."

By this time, they were striding past the Eiffel Tower and Meg had begun to calm down.

"He seems a bit odd doesn't he?" He said eying Erik with curiosity.

"You have _no_ idea." She whispered back raising her eyebrows for emphasis.

The Phantom whirled around, glaring at Meg through the shadow that covered his face. She hung her head feeling sorry for him, but before she could say anything, he had begun to advance.

She quickened her pace, "But don't judge him dear, he has gone through too much."

Erik nearly laughed at this statement. Wasn't it wonderful to have the girl be so afraid of him, that she covers up her harsh statement, so he wont do anything rash! Ha!

"Phan…I mean, um… Monsieur, how is my mother doing?"

"Better. She needs her daughter though." No emotion was in his voice as he spoke.

All went quiet. Meg could tell that The Phantom of the Opera was in no mood to talk whatsoever and didn't want to upset him.

"Meg we should probably…" Broderick started

Meg knew what he was about to say next and her eyes widened and she shook her head violently mouthing the word 'no.'

But he went on. "…send a letter back to Christine to tell her we've made it here safely."

Meg slapped her hand on her forehead and turned to see Erik's reaction.

He had stiffened and took in a long deep breath continuing as if nothing had happened.

Meg shot Broderick a 'why did you have to say that' kind of look and sighed.

"Did I say something wrong?" he whispered in her ear.

She nodded, "I'll explain everything later."

As the hospital came within their view, Meg rushed foward, forgetting The Phantom.

"Come, Broderick, my mother needs me." She whispered.

Erik turned away, fleeing the scene.He had gotten them thus far and could bring them no further without either of them inflicting more pain upon him.

He stopped in front of his now temporary flat, staring at the nearly rebuilt opera house and smiled. He smiled for the first time in months.

**A/N- I told you Erik would make another appearance soon! See, I listen to my reviewers hehe! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!**


	24. The Note

Thanks isilee, Robika, and TiA aRiEl for reviewing!

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _Thank you for M. Andrew Lloyd Webber's music for _The Phantom of the Opera_, which is used in this chapter. All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 24**

Christine sat at a small desk in sitting room straight off of her bedroom. Her arms folded on the smooth, flat surface with her head tenderly resting on them.

She had fallen asleep nearly two hours ago, but the vivid dream she was having had engulfed her and her body refused to wake.

She dreamt his large, black leather gloved hand was clamped around her wrist. He was yanking and tugging, for she was digging her heels into the brick ground.

He dragged her down to his dark, eerie lair where he lashed out at her, his eyes filling with an indescribable pain.

Her mind was like a movie; she witnessed again the ordeal at the Opera House. She whimpered as Raoul groped at the thick rope around his neck, pulling and yanking desperately.

Then she saw the Phantom. His eyes were narrow slits and he sacred her tugging the rope tighter. She felt a new emotion twist in her stomach as she slept. It was not that of hatred, which she thought she felt that day, but one she couldn't describe.

The clip was coming to a close as she sang to him, telling him she would stay with him. She laid her shaky lips upon his and recalled the feeling of flying through the darkness. She had taken her lips from his, bewildered with what had happened. Before she knew it, her lips were on his again and the sensation overcame her body. His trembling hands touched her hair and he ripped his mouth from hers, sobbing.

As he stared at her, the mob getting closer, a question rooted itself deep within the bowels of her mind: Why had he stopped?

He began walking up the steps to his organ, his shoulders shaking violently, pleading with Raoul to take her and forget of the trial and to _never_ return.

In her sleep, she shook her head trying desperately to wake, but failed. Her mind wanted her to see all and nothing less.

Her mind skipped and she and Raoul were in the small boat. She stared at her small hands puzzled and she looked up at Raoul. Song filled her heart and the first song that crossed her mind, came forth.

"You alone can make my song take flight! It's over now the music of the night!"

With those words her heart shattered…

The dream ended and her head snapped up. She clasped her hands to her mouth, tears pouring down her soft-featured face.

Why? Why had her conscious want her to see that moment in her life where sense was not present?

She got up and staggered to her large trunk. She hadn't fully unpacked and decided now was an excellent time to do so. Some distraction would be good…right?

One by one she pulled out dresses. Dresses with white lace around the collar and hem, dresses that were green, red dresses. Oh how the list went on when she stopped. Her eyes were wide as she stood like a statue, staring down at a large shriveled rose petal on her favorite turquoise gown.

Tears came again. Where was this from?

Her shaking hands picked up the garment. From the side of the intricate trunk fell a note addressed: _Christine._

The frock fell as she stood mouth agape, breathing uneven staring an envelope she knew only came from one person...

**A/N- Dun-dun-dun-dun.. Just kidding. Well, sorry for the durastic title change, but the story really needed it. PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!**


	25. Christine's Revelation

All my reviewers, this chapterfor you guys. You're the best!

**A/N- Hi! Well…I've decided that this story is going to keep going. Enjoy this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 25**

Christine paced the length of the room her arms wrapped around herself, shaking slightly.

How could he have found her here? But as she pondered this question, some part of her was thankful that he had. Thankful that he had because in some strange out of this world way, she missed her Angel. As much as she tried to deny herself of the truth, she missed him terribly.

She occasionally glanced at the small off-white envelope that stared at her menacingly from the bed.

It was because of fear she hadn't opened it. She was afraid of what curses and pleads were embellished in it.

Finally after a near twenty minutes, curiosity and wonder overcame her. She _had_ to read the note.

She inched forward, her trembling hand outstretched. She snatched it up quickly and cradled it in her delicate hands.

Tenderly she broke the seal, which was in fact depicted a skull in red wax, and reached into the envelope.

_Miss Christine Daae,_

_Congratulations on your engagement._

_Please excuse that I had not used you 'proper' title, I couldn't bring myself to do so._

_I need to clear the air. I'm sorry, I was "mad with infatuation" so you say. I know now that it was_ _not love, just the misunderstanding of a stupid fool._

_I didn't want to frighten you, but apparently, I must have for never had I seen such terror in your eyes until… Well, that is all in the past, and so I move along -once and for all._

_Please do not try to return this message, for I will not respond._

_This had to be done some time or another. And I believe sooner is more appropriate._

_Goodbye,_

_-O.G._

She looked up, tears chasing each other down her face. It was almost as if she could feel the animosity that he felt when he wrote it. Almost see the anguish in his eyes when he sealed it.

She ran her fingers over the rough paper, knowing his tears had graced it.

Her tears came more freely now, all this time she had been fooling herself. All this time she had been so blind to her own heart that had been screaming the past few weeks.

She loved him.

It was too late for that now. It was too late to go running back to him. Her angel and protector had always been with her, and now…he was no more.

"What have you got there?" said a tenor voice.

She whirled around shielding the letter behind her back, "Nothing!" she said too quickly. He shot her a inquisitive glance and she began to stammer through her tears, "It's…it's just a letter from Meg."

"Oh, how is her mother doing?" he asked, clearly aware of the fact that she was lying through her teeth.

"Fine."

He raised one chocolate eyebrow, "Christine? Christine what's the mater?"

"Charles now is really not a good time." Her voice came out choked and uneven.

He strode toward her and caught her in an embrace, "Christine tell me. What's the matter?"

She tried to break free of his tight grip, but her strength faltered as tears poured out of her eyes harder and faster.

Charles noticed a note sticking out of her fist. He tried to prod it gently from her hands, but she only tightened her fists.

"Shh Christine, It's okay." He cooed,

She shook her head, "No, no its not okay!" she cried.

"Come dear, tell me. I can help you get through whatever this is."

A wave of strength suddenly surged through her and she thrust him backwards. "Just leave me alone!" she yelled wishing he would just leave her to dwell in her own sadness.

She soon realized that her wish would be granted, for a quickly as he had come, he was gone and she sunk down onto the nearby bed and sobbed.

**A/N- I am sooooooooo sorry this chapter took a while. I had such horrible writers block, but updates should be regular again. I hope you liked this chapter! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!**


	26. Going Home

**Thank you so much for all your reviews!**

**A/N- Hi everyone! I hope you all had a happy holiday! This Chapter is kind of a shorty, but it leads up to bigger events. Haha, I mustve butchered this Ch like 8 times. I hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 26**

Days turned to week and weeks to months. In this period of time, Christine's heart had become as hard as stone and her blood froze within her veins.

She now understood the meaning of the phrase 'heart broken'. She now understood how her Angel felt when he had let her go forever.

On her lips was plastered an artificial smile and faux cheerfulness was shown in her demeanor. It was actually quite convincing save for the occasional wearied sigh.

Every night she cried herself to sleep knowing her Angel would never sing to her again. Never teach her, never love her… She knew it was her own fault, and with every passing moment she abused herself for it.

In the middle of April, Christine received a letter from Meg. Her looped handwriting was the friendliest thing she had seen since her friend had gone back to care for her mother back in early February.

_Christine, _

_Come back to France. There is a lovely surprise awaiting you. I couldn't even begin to describe it; you must to see it for yourself. I couldn't even begin justify the intensity of it! _

_Your dear friend, _

_Meg_

You didn't have to ask Christine twice. She was going back to Paris.

Maybe she'd be able to win back his affection. Maybe she'd actually see him again. Maybe, maybe, maybe!

She smiled to herself. For the first time in months she actually smiled. She felt hope again. Her insides began to thaw. Excitement racked her body. She was going home!

Before all these thoughts fully registered, she had begun to drag her chest from the storage room to her bedchamber.

Intricate dresses, fans, and hats found themselves shoved untidily into the spaciousness of the portmanteau. Her mind, although, wasn't directed on her wardrobe. All she could visualize was her Angel. Finally seeing him again was all she could ever dream of!

Before her trunk was loaded into the carriage that awaited her outside the flat, she jotted down a small note for Charles telling him not to worry and hoping to see him again someday. Quickly she scurried to the surrey and glanced over her shoulder.

This was it. This was the end of her London adventure. This was now the past and a tear escaped her eye, rolling down her cheek.

For an April night, it was rather crisp. She wrapped her shawl around her tighter, ducking her head and entering the carriage. "Goodbye. Goodbye forever."

XoX---XoX

The morning was a wonderful morning.

For a month now, Charles had been anticipating on asking for Christine's hand in marriage, and today was the day he was going to propose.

He seemed to dance down the street and hum a merry tune with every step. He was drunk with love and it was quite obvious.

He fingered the ring he had in his left pocket as he knocked on the large entranceway. He butler answered and showed him up the stares to Christine's cubicle.

When he didn't see her, he panicked, yelling her name. Fear shot through his heart. Had she been kidnapped! He tore the room apart in a search for a hint on where she might be. He turned his quickly to look at the desk and there it was…a letter addressed to him.

His hands trembled as he began to free the letter from its enclosure. A feeling at the pit of his stomach told him this was not good.

_Charles, _

_I want to thank you so much for always being there for me, but it's time for me to return home. _

_I will always treasure your friendship and I hope to see you again someday. _

_Your Truly, _

_Christine Daae_

He crumpled the note in his fist and chucked the ring at the wall with all his might, tears prodding at his grey eyes. He ran his fingers through his sandy blonde hair as rejection took its toll.

"I will see you again, Christine." He whispered bitterly. "Trust me you will."

**A/N- Okay, now hatred is thrown in the mix of emotions. You'll see him again, I promise you (even though you might not like it :)**


	27. The Greatly Awaited Surprise

**A/N- Hey! Sorry for making Charles a little stalkerish (yea okay maybe it was a bit more than a little)**

**I hope everyone had a great New Year!**

Thank you so much for reviewing everyone! 

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 27**

Emerging from the train, she sighed stepping out on to the diameter of the depot.

Involuntarily, she began searching the array of people, looking for a friendly face. When seeing no one, she retrieved her trunk and began trudging along.

"Christine!" she heard a familiar shriek.

"Meg! How did you know I was going to come?" she cried, the two friends embracing.

A crooked smiled materialized on her rosy lips, "Just a guess."

Meg then swung around to face Broderick, "Brody, dear, can you take Christine's luggage to the carriage." The sly smile appeared again, only this time larger and more prominent than before. "We'll meet you back at the house later."

He nodded, "See you soon, darling." Then disappeared within the numerous amount of people.

Meg began to laugh spontaneously then suddenly grabbed her friends writs. A person or two moved out of her way, apparently thinking she was a bit not right in the head. Dragging her through the rambunctious crowd, Christine's mind began to process her plan to 'accidentally' encounter her Angel again…if only she knew where he was. No one had seen him in months.

"Meg, shouldn't we go see your mother first? She must be terribly lonely."

"Broderick will be there." She stated simply.

They came to an abrupt halt; Christine lost her footing and nearly toppled over Meg.

"Quickly, cover your eyes."

When Christine only stared at her best friend, one of her golden eyebrows raised, Meg sighed. "Christine!" she wined like a child would when they didn't get their way, "come on! You'll ruin it!"

"Fine, fine. Don't get all worked up over it. Knowing you, it probably is something very disappointing." She teased, covering her eyes sloppily. "What is it? A nice fabric?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised. I'm sure it be worthy or _your_ approval."

Laughing, Christine put all her trust in one friend and she was guided down street after street. Her delicate feet began to swell in her petite slippers, her mind racing again.

What if The Phantom wasn't alive...

She quickly shut that horrid thought from her mind at once. If she thought about it, she might become sick right here on the streets of Paris!

Again the pair came to a stop, "Are you ready?" Excitement evident in Meg's usually calm tone.

Christine nodded, shedding her pale hands from her majestic powder blue eyes.

She gasped; her mouth repeatedly opened and closed in an attempt to find words. Finally she screamed, covering her mouth with her hands.

"Oh! Oh, my…Meg? Meg, is this…Oh I never thought I live to see the day!" she exclaimed nearly jumping up and down in excitement.

Directly before them stood the newly finished Opera Populaire in all its new built glory.

The angels mounted on the roof of the Populaire were polished so vigorously that they nearly blinded you when looked at. The relief sculptures lining the bottom of the pitched roof looked bona fide that they astounded any onlooker.

After a few moments in which the girls embraced the new Opera, Meg pulled Christine's wrist again, "Lets go in!"

Quickly Christine turned her head, "Were allowed?"

"Who knows, but I'm always up for adventure." The raven-haired girl pulled her friends arm, causing sudden movement in her feet. "We're veterans anyway. They wouldn't dare kick us out."

Christine face dropped, "Maybe not _you_, but they'd instantly fall to their knees and pray to God that I leave the Opera Populaire without causing havoc."

"Oh don't be such a ninny, Christine! You know the managers fawned over you when they weren't selling their souls to La Carlotta." Meg joked, nudging Christine in the ribs.

Christine couldn't help but laugh; it was so good to be home again!

The doors swung open revealing the main corridor.

Both girls stared goggle-eyed, "Oh, my."

The corridor was engulfed in gold; miniature chandeliers hung through the length of it. The girl's shoes clicked against the buffed wooden floor as gasp upon gasp escaped their lips.

"It's so bewitching." Christine whispered to Meg, but Meg had her eyes plastered to a sign nearby.

Tugging furiously at her friend's bell sleeve Meg whispered, "Christine!"

She turned quickly scanning the sign before Meg nearly screamed, "You _must_ go! Christine you _must_!"

Again the sign was scanned, this time taking in everything.

_We are proud to announce the reopening of the Grand Opera!_

_We are now seeking male and female lead roles. _

_Also needed- Chorus and Dancers_

_Auditions will be held on April 14_

_For your fair warning, this process takes a day at the least_

_Be prepared with at least two songs and one dance. _

"Only if you go!" Christine countered.

"Of course! I wouldn't miss this opportunity for anything! Just think of it, Christine! Living and training at the Opera again!"

"It'll be wonderful! Oh how I miss it here."

Meg looked over at her friend and said, "Haven't we all."


	28. Down Once More

**Thank you so much for reviewing everyone!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 28**

He looked around the flat, now no longer his, and sighed in relief. Finally he was out of the cramped domain; finally he could go back home!

Looking around, Erik remembered all the horrid times he had here, narrowing his eyes, and finally decided that nothing was coming with him.

He grabbed his cloak from the notch next to the aperture and went to turn the protuberance, when he stopped frozen in his tracks.

"Who knows, but I'm always up for adventure." He heard little Giry's voice though the thick door "We're veterans anyway. They wouldn't dare kick us out."

The next words that slipped into his ears shattered his nearly mended heart once again, for he could identify that sweet, dainty voice even if it were miles away.

"Maybe not _you_, but they'd instantly fall to their knees and pray to God that I leave the Opera Populaire without causing havoc."

He swallowed hard. Wasn't she in London?

The Phantom stood, poised his hand clutching the doorknob so hard, his knuckles were stark white. Just when he had gotten over her! Just when he had forcefully pushed her from his mind!

He smashed his fists against the door in his anger. He halted abruptly straightening his cape. He had trained himself to exert Christine from his mind.

He turned, his broad shoulders resting against the threshold breathing heavily. All the hate and broken heartedness he'd felt a few short moments ago were expelled from his body and he sighed in relief.

Standing himself straight, he walked to the aperture in the rear of the flat, now planning to take the shadow filled back streets.

As he walked he flexed his long fingers, for they itched unbearably to fly across the keys of his organ once more. For months they had ached for the creamy feeling of the keys under his fingertips.

Erik quickened his lengthening strides as the thumping in his heart grew louder and louder before he was finally basking in the pride of his creation.

It was he who sent the blue prints to the builders, it was he who created the wonderful masterpiece and even though no one would know, it instilled a self-pride in him that couldn't be erased.

Smiling slightly, he advanced towards the entrance by the Rue Scribe, but as he approached, the smile was gone and a saddened sigh was ushered from his tight lips.

He shouldn't have been surprised really, but he was. He had forbidden the builders to even think about retouching the Rue Scribe, and apparently they had listened to his threats.

The Scribe was scorched and crumbling, just like it had been the day he left.

Slowly he slipped into the opening near the gate and nearly broke down in joy at the sight before him.

His lair was unscathed! He had thought all this time that the convulsed mob had torn it wall from wall, shed it of all its majestic wonder and beauty, and demeaned it to plain bare walls that told tales of woe, but it was the same way he had left it- save for the layers of dust covering everything.

Disregarding everything else, he quickly sat down at his piano bench and looked at the sheets of music lying in front of him. The lone piece that sat limply in front of him made him smile. Even though this song was the cause of his spiraling downfall, it was his creation, it was his child, and he loved it with any emotion he had left.

Closing his eyes, his hands flew across the keys, playing the song the hated and loved to no end, Past The Point of No Return…

**A/N- I hope you all like this chapter! Ch 29 should be up really soon considering I know _exactly_ what I'm going to do with it. Whoa… this story is longer than I thought it would be, but I'm going to finish it no matter what it takes! Hehe. Check back tomorrow or Sat. for the next chappie. **


	29. The New Diva

**Thank you all my reviewers! You're the best!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 29**

"Well Firmin, what a lovely turnout!" exclaimed Armand Moncharmin as the two managers stood before a large group of young ladies tittering about what they'd do if they were excepted, but both pares of eyes seemed to find Christine, who was looking incredibly meditative, staring at the song in her hands, not saying a word to the others.

Firmin shot Armand a worried glance, "Miss Christine is back! Whatever will…"

"Oh hush Firmin! You've heard about the Viscount, give her a chance will you! The Ghost is long gone anyway!" Moncharmin hissed. He always liked Christine; she always seemed to give life to the Populaire.

Firmin huffed and yelled up to the many girls, "Settle! First will be Miss Benoite Facet. File out behind the stage all of you!"

A shy, hollowed face girl of about twenty stepped forward, cheeks rosy from embarrassment. "I've a song ready. Maestro, do you know _Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms_?" she asked quietly.

The two managers listened to person after person, until they thought they were about ready to gauge their ears out. Half of the girls couldn't keep a straight note, let alone sing a whole aria! So when Christine stepped on the stage they could have run to her and kissed her feet.

Once all the girls had heard the name, they stopped chattering instantly, knowing all the rumors that had trailed the young soprano last year and were interested to know if she was really as wonderful as everyone ranted she was.

"Hello Christine, nice to see you again." Firmin said relief filling him, thanking God he didn't have to listen to another croaking young hopeful.

"Same to you, managers." She smiled warmly toward the managers and to Monsieur Reyer, she asked simply, "Maestro, Lullaby of the Bells please."

He nodded, instantly striking the keys of the piano in the orchestra pit. Simultaneously, the stage filled with her strong, angelic voice.

"_Hear those bells ringing soft and low,_

_Bringing peace to the twilight glow!_

_Calling to everyone,_

_Night has begun._

_Rest from your weary toil,_

_Day's work is done. _

_Hear them ring while my love and I,_

_Drift and dream to the lullaby."_

As Christine looked around after she had finished holding out the indubitable note, everyone's mouths were agape, and all eyes on her. The voice that came forth from the young soprano was like a gathering of angels singing up to the heavens; no one could believe that Christine, a delicate seventeen-year old- who was the youngest girl auditioning- could vocalize in such a manner.

The silence was sliced through with the shrill yell of another, "Move! Move! Move! You impotent girl, what are you gapping at?"

Carlotta emerged from the crowd furiously. "What are _you _doing here," she hissed toward Christine, "when it's obvious that _I_ will be the diva as usual." She then faked a smile toward the managers. "My precious managers, I am sorry I'm late."

"Carlotta." Firmin whined.

"Maestro! Think of me!"

Because Mr. Reyer was deathly afraid of the diva, he instantly obeyed.

As she hit the high notes, everyone cringed, her voice going straight through them like a knife. She showed no emotion when singing like Christine had profusely shown.

"Alright!" Armand yelled to quite everyone after the earsplitting song they had just undergone hearing. "Monsieur Firmin and I will discuss our opinions, please feel free to roam the auditorium."

As the girls scattered, the two managers slumped back in their chairs. "I'm glad Senora Carlotta was courteous enough to add further to our resilient decision."

"Well, isn't it obvious who were choosing?" Firmin asked.

"Of course! I've never heard Miss Daae sing like that. She was marvelous!" Moncharmin replied.

The two managers discussed the matter over a second and third time before actually coming to a decision. "Ladies!" Armand yelled beckoning the young ladies back to the vast stage.

"Monsieur Richard and I want to thank you all for auditioning, you all did…very well." Moncharmin said falsely. "In the chorus will reside-"

As the managers rambled off the names, Christine felt melancholy, for her name was not called and she knew she wasn't good enough to be the diva. But all that flew from her mind as she heard a distant melody vibrate from below the stage. Quickly her heart began to pound against her ribs. He was here!

"The diva's understudy is GenevieveMontague."

A girl with straight, thick brown hair and chocolate eyes jumped up and down excitedly as her friends congratulated her.

"Now we come to the diva. Our diva is Miss Christine Daae."

Christine's jaw dropped instantly. Once everything registered in her mind, she was overwhelmed in excitement and a huge smile crossed her rosy lips. "Thank you monsieurs!"

"You're dismissed, please report to Monsieur Moncharmin on the other side of the auditorium for your room assignments."

As the groups separated- new Populaire residence and the rejected hopefuls- Carlotta exploded for she wasn't in the chorus or the diva. She had to follow the hopefuls.

"Managers! This is an outrage!"

Christine received her room assignment and quickly ran to it. It was glorious with a beauteous view. It was dressed in gold's and red's but she paid it no heed.

Quickly she dropped her belongings and ran toward the stage, where no one was in site. She got down on her hands and knees searching for the counterbalance that would shoot the trapdoor upward and let her pass through.

Perspiration formed around her brows as she searched. Her fingers slipped across a rugged board on the smooth floor. She pressed her palm against it and the board, as well as the others around it shot up, she was staring into darkness.

She looked around quickly to make sure no one was watching and slipped through the opening, sealing it tightly behind her.

A candelabrum stood next to her, frightening her as her back smashed against it. She wrapped her fingers around the cool wax at the base of the candle, yanking it free of the support.

As she advanced, the sound of the organ became stronger and stronger until she reached the murky lake leading to the lair.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the small gondola grabbing the lone oar that sat within its confines. As she steadied the rocking boat all she could think about was the uncontrollable pounding of her yearning heart.

"My Angel." She whispered to herself.

As water collided with oar, the boat inched forward. Christine though of what she would say first and repeated it over and over again to make sure she wouldn't forget.

Christine drifted away in her own thoughts and didn't realize the boat was coming close to shore until she was thrown forward, smacking her left side against the end of the boat.

She bit her lip to hold back a scream of pain and staggered onto the platform to his home. Her breath caught in her chest, could it really be? Could he really be in there?

She wasted no time finding out. She seized the doorknob, pushing the door open gently.

He failed to realize her presence, for he was so wrapped up in his music. He was playing his favorite of his compositions- Past the Point of No Return. He hadn't been able to go a day without playing it and today was no different.

As Christine began to recognize the song her heart ached in pain. This was the song that tore his heart out all those months ago.

The more she though about it, the more melody filled her heart until she exploded into song.

"_You have brought me  
to that moment where words run dry,  
to that moment where speech disappears  
into silence, silence . . .  
_

_I have come here,  
hardly knowing the reason why . . .  
In my mind, _

_I've already imagined our bodies entwining defenseless and silent -  
and now I am here with you:  
no second thoughts,  
I've decided, decided . . . _

Past the point of no return -  
no going back now:  
our passion-play has now, at last, begun . . .  
Past all thought of right or wrong -  
one final question:  
how long should we two wait, before we're one?

When will the blood begin to race  
the sleeping bud burst into bloom?  
When will the flames, at last, consume us?"

That's when he stopped.

-Damn it! _Why_ does my mind play horrid tricks on me! This has to me the worst by far! – He thought placing his head in his hands. – Why can't she get out of my head! Why must I always think of her! It was almost as if she were actually here singing along. –

He was just about ready to smash something when he heard a voice behind him.

"My Angel?"

**A/N- ****I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and as you read I am typing up the next.**

**(If any of you are familiar with the 1943 Phantom movie, that's where the first song came from- Lullaby of the Bells) So thank you whoever wrote that song! I give you full credit!**


	30. Love's Evil Cousin

**I'm so glad you all liked the last chapter! **

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**A/N- Yea, I'm okay now, thanks for asking. **

**The 1943 movie is madddddddd good I highly recommend it! On with the clueless ness of Erik!**

**Chapter 30**

"My Angel?"

The Phantom entwined his finger into his jet black, slicked back hair and tugged at the roots hard, wanting to smash his head against the corner of the organ. "You damn crazy man! What the hell are you thinking?" he whispered to himself, but because of the size of the room, it was magnified to twice its level.

Erik clenched his eyes shut, his knuckles becoming an awkward shade of red.

Christine walked forward slowly, not making a sound. Once she was standing right beside him, she placed a tiny, delicate hand on his broad shoulder. "My Angel?"

He shot up suddenly, abruptly turning around, frightening Christine out of her wits. She jumped backwards a few steps, but kept her eyes firmly locked with his.

As soon as he saw her, she though she saw a flint of hope in his beautiful eyes, but it was quickly masked by a look of murderous hatred.

"What? Have you come to mock me some more? Save your breath and just leave before I loose my patience." He spat, his eyebrows furrowing.

"That's not what I came here for." She said meekly.

"Well then are you here to rub it in my face how much you _love _your precious Vicomte? I really don't want to hear about that either."

She straightened quickly. She hadn't heard Raoul's name in so long. "What?"

He clenched his fists, "Don't toy with me little heartbreaker."

"Angel, what are you talking about?" he _must_ know Raoul was dead.

He rounded on her, "I have a name, stop calling me 'Angel'!"

Christine looked down at her hands, "What would you like me to call you then?"

"Erik."

"I like that name." She smiled at him so sincerely that it was almost as if she were paying him a compliment.

The next thing she knew, the back of his hand collided with the flesh that stretched across her right cheekbone. She doubled over, covering her cheek with her hands. He had slapped her harder than he though and she let out a cry of pain. "I don't need your sympathy!"

She said nothing, only straightened herself. With her hand still pressed firmly against her check, she whispered with pleading eyes, "Please listen to me…Erik."

He softened at her tone and stared into her eyes that looked like water droplets glistening in the sunset. "Haven't you cause enough damage?" he too began pleading now.

She took both of his large, muscular hands in her own tiny ones. "Erik, listen to me. Please."

He nodded.

She looked him up and down. He adorned his usual attire. Black slacks and a billowy white shirt, only today the midnight jacket was strewn on a chair.

"I love you." She murmured, adjusting herself in the uncomfortable blush dress she wore.

He shoved away from her, glaring. He turned, sitting back down at the piano bench. "Please stop. I don't need this pretense."

"Erik, I'm not lying!" she cried. "I've loved you for months now, but I never though you'd take me back! I _still_ don't think you'll take me back, but you must hear my story.

"I went to London back in December and I was desperately in need of company, for I had no one. Save for Meg, I would'veattempted suicide again."

As soon as she ushered those last few words, he wanted to crawl under a rock. He remembered, almost as if it were yesterday, that she had tried to commit suicide right here in this room by smashing her head against the wall repeatedly after he had captured her.

"For months I had been living with an emptiness in my heart that even Raoul couldn't fill. I had been living a half-life and the emptiness just kept growing and growing until it had engulfed me.

"Thank goodness that I had made a wonderful friend, because after Meg left my condition became worse. He helped me through it…sort of. That's when it came hurtling towards me faster and with such force that I nearly smacked myself for being stupid. For weeks I had been asking myself if you were okay, for Meg said no one had seen you in months. I had realized that I loved you."

A silence washed over them, neither of them daring to say anything.

When neither of them could endure the torturous silence any longer, Christine whispered, "Well?"

"That was a lovely confession Vicomtess." He mocked. How _dare_ she come down here and insult him with this sort of crude mockery. How _dare_ she.

"What!" she wailed, eyes filling with hot tears. Her heart that had hammered in her breast so joyfully moments ago was now torn to shreds. One by one, the pieces were torn and stepped on, crushing her view on the world. She had professed her love to him only to make a joke out of it! She was too heartbroken for any reasoning "How could you? Why don't you believe me?"

"You've lied to me before! Why the hell do you think I'll believe you now!" he screamed.

Her hands began trembling. She tried to say something, but he cut her of.

He smashed his fist into a nearby wall. "Damn it, Christine! Where's the gendarme? Huh? Certainly your beloved Vicomte wouldn't send you down here without them to capture me!" His eyes were glowing crimson orbs that looked lethaland his face was splochy and red. She knew just by staying she was putting herself in danger.

Christine wrapped her arms around herself looking away from him, her blonde ringlets covering the whole left side of her face.

"Let them take me for all I care! Why I sojourn, I'll never know!"

He wanted so desperately to stop twisting the knife deeper into her already frail body, but the insults kept advancing. His lips were not longer his own.

"He apparently doesn't adore you as much as you suspected, for no one would endanger their beloved's with 'the demon of hell'!" he boomed, his hair falling out of place, sticking to the left side of his face.

He triggered a nerve in her body. Furry filled her insides. Raoul was her friend and _no one_ speaks over her friends in such an obscene manner!

"You wouldn't know love if it smacked you in the face! No one has ever loved you because of your repulsive idea that you know everything! Well here is some news for you; you've been shut up in solitude for too long my friend, too long! Things are passing right before your eyes and your stubbornness wont let you witness them! You're no genius, you a hateful man who keeps everyone at an incredible distance so they're unable to actually know you!

"But I know you! Am I the only one? I know you can love, I know all of your emotions! No matter how hard you try to hide behind that mask, I'll always see you! I'll always be here!"

She turned on her heels, stalking out of the Louis-Philippe room into the small gondola, rowing away furiously.

He slammed his fist on the protuberance in frustration before sitting again before the ample organ depicting fury and sadness with his daunting arias.

**A/N- Yup…I bet you're all lined up at my door with Punjab's and other objects to injure me with. Please don't hurt me too much please! **

**A new chapter should be up very soon. ****Thanks for reading everyone!**


	31. Heartache

**A/N- I know that you're probably very angry with me right now, especially Robika, about having Christine blow up in Erik's face, but only know that I was doing it for the good of the story…. okay maybe not, but still.**

**Just kidding!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 31**

Almost to the point of explosion, Christine trudged her way through the bowels of the Populaire fuming, ignoring the fact that her ankles and skirt were soaked through due to having the retrieve the boat after it floated nearly halfway across the lake. Her face, an odd shade of crimson and her fists clenched so tightly that her long nails dug into her fleshy skin, causing blood to spill from the indentations.

Even tough fury had consumed most of her heart; a mere portion ached beyond all things imaginable. He wouldn't take her back, he thought she was conning him. Tears of bitterness and brokenhearted ness filled her crystal blue eyes. Swiping them away quickly, she realized she was almost to the mirror.

"Oh, I'm so happy Margot!" a voice sounded just beyond where she stood.

Christine let out an inward cry of frustration. This wasn't her dressing room any longer. It was Genevieve Montague's and she was talking to her best friend, and fellow chorus member, Margot Chevalier.

"Congratulation! I'm so happy for you!" Margot squealed.

"Oh! He'll be so happy! That man is truly angelic! I owe him everything!" Genevieve laughed happily. "I can't believe I'm _Christine Daae's_ understudy! I loved her in that opera a while back."

Christine's heart seemed to stop in her chest. _"Oh! He'll be so happy! That man is truly angelic! I owe him everything!"_ Recognition settled within her jumbled mind. She cried out as an invisible dagger plunged through her heart. How could he? How could he?

"Who's there?" Genevieve's voice sliced through Christine's cries.

Good thing they couldn't see her behind the tinted mirror, for they would have surely though she was crazy. Before they could say anything more, someone called the pair to dinner.

They quickly obeyed and ran from the 'haunted' room.

Christine's eyes filled with hot tears that spilled over her pale cheeks. "Why have you forsaken me my Angel?" she moaned, but in the bowels of her imprisoned mind, she knew she had forsaken him.

So there she stood, shielded only by the tinted mirror, her back pressed against the cold, stonewall waiting for the precise moment to leave this horrid room.

Once she knew that Genevieve and Margot were really gone, she slipped out from her hiding spot, eyes bloodshot from crying, and slithered into her dormitory, which was down the long corridor to the right.

She threw herself on her four-poster and sobbed, her head buried in her soft pillow. But crying was not enough to mend her wounded heart. Not enough to salvage whatever hope she had left. Not enough to be self-confident any longer.

As she slipped into an uneasy sleep, she though she heard someone calling her name, but disregarded it with cool intent, not wishing to see or speak to anyone.

**XoX----XoX**

Christine awoke with a start the next morning, shivering as someone called her name repeatedly. "Mademoiselle Daae? Mademoiselle Daae please let us in!"

She stumbled; tripping over her trunk, to get to the door, hoping it was someone who wasn't.

Light flooded the pitch-black room the moment the door opened. Christine had to shield her eyes and squint not to become blind, as two thirty-year-old women walked gracefully in.

"What?" Christine mumbled, yawning, still half asleep. "I'm tired."

The women ran around the room lighting candle after candle, until the room was brighter than it was during the day. "The managers sent us, they would like you to meet someone."

"What time is it?" Christine's words were still slurred in fatigue, but managed to stand with air from a high backed chair in the corner of her enormous room.

"Nearly four o clock mademoiselle." The maid with graying hair said bluntly. "Come, we must get you dressed."

"This is mad." Christine whispered to herself, "I never wake up at five."

"Ah! This is lovely and perfect for the occasion!" the other stout maid exclaimed excitedly. "What a lovely color! The pale blue will bring out your eyes!"

Before Christine knew what was happening, she was fully awakened by the abrupt shortness of breath she encountered, as the maids pulled the stays on her corset tighter and tighter.

Her hand flew to her chest, taking in deep breaths slowly. "Too tight!" she croaked.

They maid laughed. – This isn't humorous! – Christine's mind screamed.

Once the horrific tugging, dress laced and dainty shoes slipped on, Christine looked astounding. Her normally pale eyes were an electric blue color and her cheeks seemed unusually rosy. The tight ringlets that adorned her head were curlier than usual- she though she looked rather pretty.

"The managers told us to tell you to meet them at the stage as soon as possible." The petite one said.

Christine smiled, even through her heartbreak, "Thank you!" she called over her shoulder, rushing out of the threshold as quickly as her feet would carry her.

Through the corridors she ran, her blonde hair bobbing up and down with every step. She knew the Opera House inside out and backwards, so it was no trouble finding the stage.

"Yes, she's exceptionally talented…and speak of the devil, here she is now!" Armand exclaimed, as Christine appeared from the heavy delicate, red curtain.

"Christine, we'd like you to meet Anatole D'Aubigne. He's the leading male who will be performing with you constantly."

" It's a pleasure to meet you Monsieur." Christine curtsied gracefully, bowing her head slightly.

She felt someone lift her out of her cuts and stand her straight, "Please, call me Anatole and don't do that." He did a horrible impression of doing a curtsy.

Even though heartache weighed her spirits down, Christine erupted in laughter. "Then please, just call my Christine, none of this mademoiselle business."

"Hello Miss Daae!" she heard a voice call her name only so be smacked in the face with a new wave of hurt. It was Genevieve.

The smile was whipped clear off her face, forcing a smile, she whispered a quiet hello.

"Remember the welcoming dinner is tonight. Anatole, Christine, it's mandatory for you to come. We thank you for coming here at this untimely hour, but it was the only time we had free. Once again welcome, Anatole, we will show you to your room."

Christine was left alone. The twisting and knotting in her heart was too much to bear, and she broke down in silent tears, roaming the abandoned hallways of her new home.

**A/N- Okay. I know let me start for you…. GET ETERNAL ROSE! GET ETERNAL ROSE! Just please don't hurt my writting arm…please?**

**Haha! If you can forgive me enough to send me a review, that would be very much appreciated.**

**Thanks!**


	32. The Banquet

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 32**

"Welcome one and all!" Monsieur Armand Moncharmin's voice echoed through the grand banquet hall. "It's wonderful to see so many new faces as well as one's we have seen before! Monsieur Richard and I are proud to welcome you to the new Opera Populaire."

A round of applause erupted from the ample crowd that sat before the two managers. Christine and Anatole on his right, Madame Giry and Meg on his left.

"We'd also like to welcome back our pervious Mistress of the Ballet, Madame Giry. She had a fall a few months ago, but is back on her feet, and much to our pleas, will not give up her position. You've all got to love the woman's spirits!"

Laughter exploded from all corners of the room, as Madame Giry stood up, waving slightly.

Christine, who sat across from Mme. Giry, smiled.

"Those who have also come back, include, Christine Daae, Meg Giry, Jammes Bandeaux, and Sorrelli Rousseau. Christine Daae, ladies and gentlemen, is our new beautiful diva, and as many of the women know, La Carlotta Giudicelli was _not_ happy with our choice, and neither was security, for that matter, she gave them hell. But Christine ladies and gents, has been with the populaire since she was a little girl, training in the dormitories to be a ballerina. Discovered last year, after a reoccurring hissy fit from our diva, she preformed, fascinating us with her lovely voice."

"Please monsieur." She begged, turning crimson.

"La Carlotta is furious with you," he smirked.

She suddenly stood, overcoming her modesty, "Let her be angry! She was a witch anyway! It serves her right!"

Laughter and clapping surrounded her, but it was all drained from Christine's ears when she saw a familiar figure sitting with the chorus, listening to the whole speech. The managers were too preoccupied to notice The Phantom there. Christine nodded to the rows and rows of chorus members and ballet rats, before sitting tears threatening to be released.

"Hey, are you alright, Christine." Anatole asked shaking her shoulder slightly.

Anger filled her insides instead of sorrow. It was his loss. "Yes, I'm fine." She smiled.

"Eat! Eat! You all need your strength!" Firmin yelled.

Throughout the whole room, silverware clanked against china, as everyone ate a grand meal. Every once and a while, Christine felt eyes bearing into her, but when she looked in the direction she thought it coming from, he was always looking from person to person. She noticed though, that his eyes were always close to where Genevieve was sitting.

"So Christine, what do you think of the performance they've chosen?" Anatole asked jerking his thumb towards the managers.

"They haven't told me, what is it." As the managers heard her reply, they lowered their heads, pretending to be engrossed in their veal.

"Faust, by Goethe." He said simply.

Christine nearly choked on her food, dropping her fork, casing a large clanking sound. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you correctly. What was that?"

"Faust, by Goethe." He repeated.

"Ah! Thank you managers, I'm glad this is how you welcome me." Christine whispered.

"Christine, will your 'Angel of Music' help you this time?" sarcasm dripped off Jammes words and stung her like a burning flame.

Fury spread through her veins like wildfire. She stood up quickly, her chair falling backwards, "Why must you insult me Jammes! You know very well that that lacerated me!" When she had finished yelling, all eyes were on her. It was so quiet in the banquet hall that you could've heard a pin drop.

Suddenly embarrassed, she looked around, noticing for the first time, that Erik's eyes were on her. "Good evening to you all. Tomorrow will hopefully be better."

She stalked out of the room; wrapping her arms around herself as she walked, hurt racking her body. She never liked Jammes, and now, she knew she never would.

"What was all that about?" Anatole inquired, one of his chocolate brown brows raised. "Managers. What distressed her?"

"It's a long story, Signor D'Aubigne, and I do not feel it my business to tell you. It's her affair and it was not a pleasant one at that. Let her be, she's a fragile child." Monsieur Richard retorted.

"She is fragile, monsieurs, what she needs now more than ever is comforting." Meg interrupted. "I've no doubt that you know what happened a few months ago. It was all over the paper, and I don't think she's fully the same yet."

Erik strained his ears to hear what they were saying, catching most of the conversation.

"The poor dear, only just turned seventeen too. She's had a hard life monsieurs don't hold her against it, and as for you." Madame Giry rounded on Jammes who sat beside Meg, "That was not your affair, do not meddle. You saw how much that remark pained her."

Sorelli rapped Jammes across the back of the head, "That wasn't your place. Imagine if she said that to you."

-What remark! - Erik's mind screamed, for he hadn't heard it. –If I ever find out what the hell that brat said, I'll…-

Anatole stood. They all knew that he was going to try to comfort her. Even only knowing him for a short time, they all knew he was hind-hearted man.

He found Christine, her back to the wall opposite the large threshold Anatole came from, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

"Christine, what's the matter?" he asked softly, walking over to her, offering his handkerchief.

She shook her head slowly, taking the thin linen, murmuring what was supposed to be a thank you, before busting into a new fit of tears.

"Come, come. You can tell me." He whispered reassuringly.

"I'm fine." She choked out.

"Apparently not, for no one sobs when their alright." He joked.

This caused a small, crooked smile to cross her lips. "Oh, I'm sorry, you shouldn't be doing this. It was my ordeal" She said whipping her eyes with the linen.

"That's why I'm here. What are friends for?" He smiled. "It's okay, everything's going to be okay."

Christine smiled and realized that they were back in the hall. Christine sat down shyly, again taking up her fork and eating. The conversation was quickly directed to politics, while the ladies talked of fashion. No one daring to mention the past, which in some way, haunted them all.

**A/N- Yea, I wasn't really sure of Jammes or Sorelli's last names, cause I don't think their in the Phantom book, so I made them up. ) **

**I hope you like this chapter, please review.**


	33. The Melancholy Voice

**A/N- Sorry, If I portrayed Jammes as a male, for she is female. I hope everyone likes this chapter…it _is _only a connected, so please bear with me.**

**(Just to clear everything up, Anatole isn't another Raoul character.)**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 33**

"Once again, from the top!" Monsieur Reyer yelled over the chatter of the chorus conversing with one another.

They all sighed discouragingly, "Please, Monsieur Reyer! We've been practicing for thirteen hours with hardly a break!" Jammes whined, shifting her weight from one foot to her other, shrugging off a large arm off her shoulders that belonged to Hugues Gateaux, the lone male dancer.

Madame Giry smashed her cane into the stage, "You, Little Jammes, do _not_ question authority! For that you will stay after everyone else and review the ballet fifty times."

Christine lowered her head, hiding a smile, for she knew Mme. Giry was still getting back at Jammes for distressing her a fortnight ago.

Jammes' jaw dropped, her eyes seemed to buldge out of her lanky face. "But…but…Madame Giry that would take three hours at the least! This is preposterous!"

Giry shrugged, "You must learn."

Hatred filled her eyes as Jammes glanced around the room for someone to come to her rescue, but all she found was the chorus with their hands pressed firmly to their lips.

"Al…Alright," Reyer announced, "Miss Bandeaux is unfortunately correct. I have overworked you all today. Get a good nights slumber, I'll see you all tomorrow bright and early!"

"Finally." Christine croaked to the sluggish Anatole. "I thought my vocal cords were being ripped from my through a few hours ago." She massaged the base of her neck as he chuckled.

"I know what you mean. My voice has never been challenged this much before."

A glaring Jammes, whose eyes were an odd shade of crimson to match her splotching face, stopped the two short in their tracks. "This is all your fault! I was asking a fine question, you needn't have blown up."

Christine squared her shoulders, clearing her throat, "Please Jammes, now is not the time nor place. I do not wish to discus this with you _now_, or _anytime_ in the future."

Jammes, her forget-me-not eyes like tiny, glittering slits, hissed, "Look, Mademoiselle Daae, we all know he was a figment of your doltish imagination…"

"Please," Christine ignored the ignorant comment, taking a long, slow breath, holding her palms up; walking away Anatole at her clicking heals.

"What in God's name…"the tall man started, staring down at her, running his long fingers through his thick brown hair, but was cut off by a look of maliciousness that was shot in his direction.

"Dear Lord! Why can't everyone keep to himself or herself around here! It's none of _her_ business! She doesn't even _know_! Dirty Rotten Jammes! She's just jealous because…" She stopped tasting an unappetizing rust liquid she soon realized was blood, pouring from her gums, which her teeth were digging into.

She looked up at Anatole, her eyes glazed over, "I'm sorry." Was her meek response.

"…Christine…" came a distant melancholy melody, beckoning to her.

Her head shot up, and her eyes darted from her left to her right as she mumbled, "Did you hear that?"

Anatole laid a hand on her arm, "Did I hear what? Christine? You look pale."

She twisted her body, shoving his hand off her, becoming apprehensive. The last time she heard that voice, she was in the hospital for weeks. "No, stop."

She strained her ears for the dejected voice once more, but only heard silence. Her muscles relaxed as she took in a breath of relief, a hospital trip wasn't in her favor now.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she advanced, Anatole as clueless as ever, and a bit startled. "What…what in God's name was that about?"

"Go ask Jammes, she'll tell you." Christine spat, tossing her blonde ringlets over her shoulders, poised at her door. "The fool she is."

Tears racked her body- she didn't take personal insults with ease, especially not about her Angel. Jammes could insult her all she wanted, but _no one_ could accuse him of not being real.

She slithered inside, slamming it shut and locking it, sealing out the world that threatened to collapse around her ankles at any given moment.


	34. The Shocking Truth

**Thank you all my reviewers!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 34**

"Five minutes! Let's go!" The monsieurs boomed running through the expanse of the hallways. The Gala was nearly on and half the ballet rats weren't even remotely prepared.

"Hurry!" Christine began rushing her maids. The elder one, whose name she later found out was Armelle, was tightening her corset so that her chest round slightly over the low-cut neckline.

Christine was having trouble breathing, but she knew it wasn't all because of the horrid tugging. Her nerves weren't helping all that much either. Her stomach had been tying itself in knots for hours now and she though she'd be sick all over the carpet.

"Christine!" She heard Anatole yell through the aperture, "Were on in a minute!"

She nearly began to hyperventilate. If it hadn't been for her maids, she didn't know what she'd have done. How she managed to slip into her costume in a few seconds was a miracle.

Armelle saw Christine's nervousness, "You'll do wonderful, Miss Daae. Don't worry and relax." She tried to soothe the young diva's nerves with no avail.

Christine forced a smile, "Thank you."

She lifted her skirts and ran pell-mell toward the stage where they were stalling for her. Her breakfast threatened to come back up her throat, for she was thinking of the last performance she was in, but it was to late to be sick.

It had started.

**XoX----XoX**

Christine stood on the side of the spacious stage, as Anatole opened the performance with his aria. Gaston De Marteux, who played Mephistopheles, hurried out quickly, nearly missing his que, but not quite.

Christine needed to wait until the street scene to make her entrance, and she did it rather well if she did say so herself. Her entrance was nothing big, but she enjoyed being seen.

She quickly exited as Anatole and Gaston finished the number, and prepared herself for her upcoming solos, taking in deep breaths, running through the songs in her minds until she though her temples were going to explode.

**XoX----XoX**

The duet between Faust and Margaret was fast approaching. Everyone could now see the tension in the singers and well as the ballet rats, complaining their feet hurt or their throats were sore. Apparently Goethe was not a good choice for the first play.

Anatole linked arms with Christine as the music began to soar through the auditorium, the chandelier dimmed as to not blind them, their entrance set.

The two strode on to the stage lazily, the scenery, a garden filled with beauteous fake flowers as well as some real. They moved to stage left in no hurry at all as the chorus entered stealthily behind.

Christine was dressed in a pale pink hoop skirt; Anatole in dark pants and a white shirt.

As they began singing, Christine looked longingly up to box five, where she half expected Erik to be sitting, staring at her. He wasn't.

She had to fight for her composure, not to mention the tears that threatened to spill down her pale cheeks. She quickly masked her pain and smiled throughout the whole song.

-No use crying now, I'd rather do it in the solitude of my room- she though, pain stabbing at her heart already weak heart.

**XoX----XoX**

The show was over, it was a wonderful success.

Everyone was laughing and drinking only moments after the gala ended, but Christine was in no mood for joyous celebration.

She wished everyone a goodnight before retiring to her room.

As she sat on a comfortable settee in the corner of her bedchamber, picking up a brown leather-bound book on the polished wooden table.

Three months. Three and a half months she had been at the lovely Opera House, and still she felt an emptiness that couldn't be put to words.

Fists smacked against Christine's door. Her head snapped up quickly, as Meg shouted, "Christine! Christine come quick!"

Meg seldom got this upset, and the sound of her voice behind the door frightened her out of her wits. In one swift motion the door was open and Meg was panting, grasping one of her best friend's shoulders.

"Christine, Cha…Cha…" The frail eighteen year old with crow black hair stammered, desperately out of breath. "He.."

"What Meg? What?" Christine exclaimed sitting Meg down on the settee.

After the girl recovered her normal breathing, she looked up, sheer terror in her eyes. "Christine. Charles, he's here and he looks completely murderous. I ran into him when… when he said he wanted to see you."

Christine just sat there a look of bewilderment in her eyes, what was Meg talking about? Charles was a good, kind man.

She smiled slightly, getting up. I would be so wonderful to see her old friend again!

Meg quickly reached up grabbing her seventeen-year-old friends arm, "You can't go alone! Who knows what he'll do."

"What are you talking about? That man wouldn't hurt a fly." Christine wrinkled her brows.

Meg looked down ashamed, "Christine, he's a frightening on Charles. I've never told you, but when we were on the train going to England, rightafter Raoul died, He stalked you on the train and stared at you the whole was there.

"I'm also ashamed because, I never trusted him. Whenever he looked at you, he gained a protective glare, so I did some snooping around. Christine, he's no kind man, he's a killer."

**A/N- Dun Dun DUN! Sorry...**

**I'm currently writting Chapter 35. Hope you enjoy!**


	35. Shadow of a Rose

**Thank you all my reviewers! This chapter is for you guys!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 35**

Christine's eyes bulged with fear, frightened tears poured down her face.

"He uses the name Edward Klinen, although his real name is Charles Cavanaugh." Meg stopped when she witnessed Christine's eyes zone out.

-Edward Klinen, Edward Klinen…I've heard that name be…- her thoughts halted abruptly remembering an article she read a little over nine months ago…

_Yesterday afternoon in the town square, the Vicomte de Chagny was shot in the stomach by Edward Klinen, a banker from the north side of Paris._

Her eyes bulged even more, which Meg didn't think possible.

"Where was he?" she croaked. Christine had a foreboding feeling in her knotted stomach.

Meg didn't answer; she only looked down at the floor, shuffling her tiny feet that were still incased in her peach ballet slippers.

"Megan Elizabeth Giry, where…was…he…" Christine clenched her jaw, the dreading feeling overwhelming her; she grabbed one of the four posters on her bed.

"He was standing in the auditorium. Christine please, don't go alone." But poor Meg was pleading with air, for Christine's eyes widened a little more, and bolted out the door.

Christine had managed to change into a pale blue dress before Meg burst in. Her throat was parched and her heart pounding as she gained speed.

She reached the amphitheater to find nothing. "Charles?" she yelled trying desperately to adumbrate her horror. "Charles are you…are you in here?"

After waiting a few moments there was still no response and she began to tremble, tears poking out from behind her eyelids.

Suddenly she heard noises surrounding her, like…quickened footsteps and panting. That's when it fully hit her. She was a target and she, most likely, was going to die.

A forbidden sob escaped her lips, tears chasing each other down her incredibly pale face.

She looked toward her right and was startled by what she saw, a shadow of a rose resting gently on the ground. Her Angel, she had to say goodbye.

She ran toward the stage, forcefully opening the trapdoor, not bothering to easy her way into the darkness, she jumped.

Christine shut the secret passage firmly before running, unafraid into the darkness. As it encased her, she felt an odd sense of serene peace wash over her.

Although at one point, she had to stop and rest her back against a shadowy wall because she was shaking so bad that her knees gave way.

During that time, she brought her knees up to her face and sobbed. Why? Why did she have to die, and so young? She never got to say goodbye to so many: Meg, Madame Giry, The managers, Anatole, Broderick, eve at this point she could've forgiven Genevieve if it would save her, but it was to late.

Stealthily she rose, at least she could say one goodbye, and no one could rob her of that. One word that was all, 'Goodbye'.

Again she ran as fast as her petite feet would carry her, wishing he was in his lair and not wandering the hallways above her.

Finally she reached the lake leading to his home, the silhouette of the small boat was visible a few feet to her right. She scrambled to it, tripping over herself in her hastiness.

As the oar glided along the surface of the glassy lake, her heart swelled just to know that she was within feet of him.

The gondola glided to a stop, rocking back and forth menacingly, threatening to tip her over, but she didn't care. She ran hurriedly toward the door that she swung open…

"No!" she screamed, her eyes widening with terror.

**A/N- Hi everyone. Yes, this is a first; I have successfully posted two chapters in one day. I feel so proud of myself. I hope you all enjoy, PLEASE review. **


	36. Hatred Vursus Love Part One

**A/N- I'm so glad you guys like it! Okay, so since this chapter would've been extremely long, I've decided to make it into two chapters. Thank you for all the reviews!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 36**

Christine covered her mouth, still standing at the threshold of the door, shaking violently.

The man whose back was to her snapped his head around, a wicked smile stretched across his lips. His eyes were bloodshot and so frightening that Christine had to fight not to scream.

"Well, hello my dear." The man hissed taking a step toward her, his black cape falling off his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" she screamed, all self control lost, clenching her fists. "Let him go!"

The sight before her was the worst she'd ever see in her life; it would forever scar her.

Erik's wrists and ankles were ties to the gate that was supposed to be the right wall of the lair. His feet weren't touching the ground, but it didn't seem to faze him. He just stayed there, not fighting, not even acknowledging the Punjab lasso tied tightly around his sweaty neck. The rope held by Broderick.

All three were staring at her.

Erik squirmed. Christine nearly broke down, for there was a large menacing rope burn that had swollen, circumferencing his neck.

Charles stepped closer, "How have you been my love?" he questioned, brushing his hand down one of her soft cheeks.

She pulled away quickly running from him. "Don't touch me!"

"Oh, come now darling, is this any way to greet an old friend?" he hissed, mockery buried deep within each words core. He grabbed her hand.

Again, she pulled away, frightened out of her wits, "Don't touch me Charles, or should I say, _Edward_."

He went livid, "You snoop! No one likes pragmatist!"

He grabbed her upper left arm, and as he did Erik let out a long, low growl. "Let her go."

"What are you going to do, you putrid, repulsive animal!" he snapped tightening his grip on Christine's arm, even through her struggles to break free.

He nodded to Broderick and her tugged on the Punjab causing Erik to cry out in pain.

"Why are you doing this?" she sobbed, screaming, "You don't even know him!"

"I don't do I?" Charles mocked questioningly. "He's unfortunately my brother. You loathsome creature!" he spat at The Phantom. "You caused mother so much pain!"

Christine looked at Broderick, her eyes pleading. Why, why were they doing this?

She could stand Charles' insults no longer, she whirled around, and kicking him in the groin and punching him square in the face with all her strength.

He doubled over, smacking his head against a desk and blacked out momentarily.

The frail girl ran over to Broderick. "What are you doing?"

"Charles said he was threatening you and going to kill you." He jabbed a finger at Erik.

"Do you even know who he is?" she cried, "He's a killer! He murdered my fiancé a little over nine months ago!" She began to tremble again, how much time did she have before Charles came back to his senses.

Erik, turned his head abruptly, bewilderment and confusion in his eyes. He had no idea the Vicomte was dead.

Broderick's eyes widened.

"Do you remember that talk we had? The one where you said you loved Meg too much for you to let her go so easily and that you'd kill yourself if anything happened to her."

He nodded dumbfounded, what was he doing?

"I love my Angel, your killing him!" she sobbed tears falling faster and harder than ever before, her blonde ringlets attached themselves to the salty tears. "You're killing him Broderick! What if that was Meg?"

She felt arms grab her waist fiercely and felt cold blade rest on her neck.

Her breathing became shallow, cold fear shot down her spine

"You're mine Christine." Charles hissed.

She looked up and saw an alarming smirk on his face, blood pouring from a wound right above hisleft eye. His grip tightened around her.

He suddenly went livid, "Goddamn it! What are you doing?" Charled screamed.

Broderick had let go of the Punjab, Erik had one hand free and Broderick had untied his ankles. The dreaded Punjab lay abandoned on the floor.

**A/N- Yup so the second part of the chapter should be up a little later.**

**I know everyone must want to mortally wound me for tying up Erik… **

**Please Review!**


	37. Hatred Versus Love Part Two

**A/N- PART TWO!**

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 37**

Erik had fully freed himself, his eyes filled with sheer hatred. In one quick motion, he cracked his neck and unsheathed his sword that hung around his belt.

Charles tightened his grip around Christine, causing her to cry out in pain.

"Let me go!" Christine kicked and squirmed in his deathly restraining hold. She squirmed just enough to sink her teeth into his opposite arm.

He dropped her massaging his forearm.

As Christine ran to Erik, he opened his arms to her, whispering in her ear, "Go to the organ room Christine and lock the door."

She nodded ever so slightly, running hastily to the room of the left, shaking involuntarily. As she ran, she secretly scooped up the abandoned Punjab.

The door slammed behind her just as Erik smashed his weapon into Charles knife, causing it to fly across the room, wedging itself into the ground.

In a panic, the murderer, fumbled with his cutlass, blood dripping into his eyes, stinging. Once he had it firmly in his hands, Charles slashed it unskillfully, stumbling forward. The Angel Of Music blocked the fluctuation, grabbing the grip of his opponent's blade, forcing it closer and closer to the abhorrent face he loathed.

"You…_will_…stay…away…from…her…" Erik hissed angrily into his brother's ear.

"Never!" her gasped struggling from the position he was in.

Mr. Cavanaugh was thrust to the ground, his sword in the hands of the Opera Ghost, the tip of his own weapon resting frightfully at the base of his neck, a foot pressing into his stomach.

The man gagged, coughing up blood, spitting it onto the floor. Erik flipped him over with the other sword, tying his hands behind his large back with the rope that had cut his ankles and wrists.

"Please…" the imposter croaked. "Mercy."

Erik laughed hatefully, "Mercy. Is that what you'd like, mercy? I'd like a lot of thing, a handsome face for one, but we don't always get what we want do we?"

The Phantom kicked the man crumpled on the floor in the ribs, "Do you like to be tortured?"

Charles shook his head.

"Taste the bitterness of what I've been through my whole, insignificant life, Mr. Cavanaugh. Torture and lost love. I've loved over and over, and I will not accept the fact that you have hurt my Angel. For that you will pay."

"Please, I'll leave and never come near her again…" for the first time in his life, Charles Cavanaugh had the underhand over his brother and was thoroughly afraid for his life. "Please."

"Honestly, tell my why on earth you'd think I'd let you go? Are you daft?"

"No." Charles took a deep breath, "I know how much you love her and visa versa. Your, your all she could talk about for a while."

Erik looked sternly down at the tied up man.

"Please, Erik. Please let me go and I swear to you that you will never see or hear of me again." Charles sincerely meant it too. Some where between seeing Christine look at Erik and being tied up, he realized Christine could never love him, and Erik could see that.

The Phantom bent down and untied the man quickly, jumping to his feet readying himself for another attack, but none came. Charles brushed himself off, and headed for the door, dragging his feet behind him, his mind jumbled with thoughts.


	38. Love Will Conquer

**A/N- I hope you all enjoyed Chapter 37! **

**Disclaimer: **The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. All relations come from Mr. Gaston Leroux's novel _The Phantom of the Opera. _All characters that appear from this point and time in the story however are mine.

**Chapter 38**

Christine sat curled up in the corner of the organ room sobbing, her knees to her face. What happened if her Angel lost? What would become of her? Who would she turn to?

Erik opened the door quietly, his heart breaking seeing her cry. Stealthily he made his way over to her; he crouched, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

She looked up, relief filling her body throwing herself in his arms, "Thank God your alright! Thank God!" she sobbed onto his shoulder.

He embraced her, "Shh, It's alright my love, it's alright." Tears began to well up in his eyes as he buried his face in her soft blonde curls.

She began to tremble, "I…I was so scared."

"I know." He cooed, "I was too."

She looked up at his neck; the rope burn was swollen and crimson. This made her cry harder. She ran her tiny fingers over the menacing wound.

Erik took her hands in his, helping her stand.

There was a long pause between them before Erik spoke. "I'm so sorry, Christine."

"It's not…" she began.

"No, Christine. It _is_ my fault." He took her in his strong arms, "You were right. I do shun myself away rejecting anyone who can get close to me. I've always done it, but that's how I was raised. I wasn't loved, I was cruelly mocked. I thought if I pushed people away, they wouldn't have a chance to hurt me, but in doing so, I hurt you."

She looked straight into his eyes and placed her tiny hands on his broad chest. At that moment, he thought, she'd never been more beautiful.

Christine had to look away, at that moment, all she could envision was Genevieve and her Angel together, "What about Genevieve Montague. I know what you've been doing for her."

"What are you talking about?" he inquired, he'd heard of Mademoiselle Montague; she was taking lessons from Monsieur Sifergue, the vocal instructor down the road.

"I…I over heard her talking, she said, 'Oh he'll be so happy. That man is angelic.'" Christine whispered, hurt overwhelming her.

"Mon cher," Erik caught her face in his hands, "I could never give lessons to anyone but you. Mademoiselle has been training with Monsieur Sifergue."

Christine smiled, "I love you."

"Mon amour," he whispered lowering his head, kissing her.

All of the feelings that Christine had bottled up inside her over the past nine months were released. She interlocked her fingers around her Angel's neck, answering his kiss.

They broke apart slowly, "You were wonderful tonight."

She blushed, looking down, "Will you continue teaching me? I need you my Angel of Music."

He smiled answering her with another kiss. It was filled with so much emotion, so much passion that Christine's knees gave way. His arms around her waist were the only things keeping her upright.

"Are you happy Christine? I mean truly happy? Is this what you want?" Erik asked, a little breathless.

"Oh, I'm so happy!" she exclaimed, tears of joy falling down her rosy cheeks.

He smiled.

As he held her, she knew. She knew that this was what was missing in her life for so long. Knew that this was whom she loved. Knew that this was where she finally belonged...

**A/N- Wow, it's over…I'm about to cry. **

**To everyone who reviewed for my fanfic, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for sticking with me since September. I know I'm not the fastest updater, so thank you. **

**I still can't believe it. My first fic, and so many wonderful people who liked and reviewed for it. Here come the tears. Ha-ha, just kidding. **

**An epilogue will be posted shortly, please take a look. **

**You guys are great! **

**Yours truly,**

**eternal rose 45**


	39. Epilouge

**Epilogue**

Christine Daae stared in many more performances. She even granted the managers permission to do _Don Juan Triumphant_ once more.

The Phantom continued to teach his angel the songs, which she so longed to know, and perfected them, so that she did sound like an angel from heaven when she sang them.

Charles Cavanaugh, the night he lost his love, drowned himself in the lake leading to The Phantom's lair. They found his body years later.

Megan Elizabeth Giry and Broderick Willoughby Anisworth were married on July 25; on the same year Christine and Erik were married. Meg and Broderick had a huge wedding, while Christine and Erik were married in secret, with only the Anisworths as their witnesses to God.

Christine and Erik were proud to announce the birth of their child, Rose, on the twelfth of December, a year and a half after their marriage.

After Christine retired from the opera, she and Erik moved to a small flat overlooking the grand city, which they loved so much.


End file.
